


Codename GARBO

by Liz_Starling



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Fake AH Crew, Female Jack Pattillo, Gen, I used GTA 5 characters as minor characters, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-05-31 14:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15121616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liz_Starling/pseuds/Liz_Starling
Summary: Jeremy gets blackmailed into working with the Fake AH Crew. Now he's got to do everything to keep them from realizing it's his dream job.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to agent Juan Pujol García, a triple agent for the British during WWII. I had already been planning on referencing him, but his codename was too perfect to give up.
> 
> You know when you get so excited about an idea that you just can't focus on anything else? That's been me with this, and it ended up being way longer than I originally anticipated. Expect three parts. For any of you who are waiting for more Persuasion, don't worry, it's next on my to-do list.

Jeremy Dooley lived in the bad side of town, cramped into a tiny apartment with two roommates, one of whom wasn’t even officially on the lease. He got paid barely minimum wage, working double shifts at a local pizzeria, and they still barely scrapped by on rent. It was a shit situation- he couldn’t save up for a better apartment, and the only cheaper places were deep into gang territory, where he’d be practically signing his own death warrant.

So really the only reasonably solution was a life of crime.

At least, it was after the countless interviews that asked why he had dropped out of college (a lack of funds, like every other schmuck who tried to go to college without a safety net), what he wanted to do with his life (fuck if he knew), and what use half a degree in art was anyway (absolutely nothing, as it turned out).

He’d done a bit of underground fighting back in Boston, and he got back into the scene at first, testing the waters. But Los Santos was a whole new playground which didn’t take kindly to newcomers. They underestimated him, figuring that you had to be massive to know how to knock a guy out. Jeremy soon proved them wrong, and it wasn’t very long before someone worked out that his small figure and gymnastics skills could be used for so much more than brute force.

He got hired out for a couple of burglary jobs, and soon word got out. Jeremy got a reputation for being damn good at his job, knowing when to keep his mouth shut, and being able to fucking book it when the situation demanded it. He never really meant to go into the mugging business, but the extra money meant consistent hot water, and no one stays innocent in Los Santos for long. So he bought a mask to cover the lower half of his face, a hat to shade the top half, and a gun.

He wasn’t a hitman, so Jeremy rarely used the gun, but it helped in intimidation, startled the target until he could make a quick getaway. Jeremy was getting particularly good at hopping fences, dodging highway traffic, and getting lost in a crowd. He was still new to the scene, but getting better well known, for being discrete and reliable. He knew when not to ask question, knew when to keep his head down. It was a good reputation to have, and one Jeremy was careful to cultivate. No one’s really trustworthy in Los Santos, but Jeremy’s professional, and that’s not a bad second option.

“Drop the briefcase, give me your wallet, and then put your hands up!” he growled, only cursorily trying to disguise his voice. It didn’t really matter, most people only payed attention to his height and his clothes, and that’s if they were able to focus on anything further than the barrel of a gun pressed into the small of their back.

The man stiffened quickly, and flicked his head side to side, as if looking to see if there was anyone around to help. There wasn’t, Jeremy was too smart to mug someone in a crowded street, but they probably would not have helped even if there was. You didn’t get very far in Los Santos by sticking your neck out for strangers. Anyone foolish enough to be gotten the better of probably deserved it anyway, the people of Los Santos reasoned. Darwin rules, if you couldn’t survive you probably didn’t deserve to anyway.

Jeremy jabbed the gun further into the man’s back, letting out a sharp and impatient “Now!”. He was going to get paid a great deal for this job, and he wasn’t going to fuck it up because some punk was feeling lucky.

The man let the briefcase go, and it made a sharp clack and a thump as it dropped from his fingers and toppled over. Jeremy pulled it forward a bit with the toe of his boot, making sure to keep the gun steady against the man’s back, and then kicked it over to the side of the alleyway. He’d pick it up later, and his employer probably wouldn’t care that if the leather was a bit scratched up.

“Now your wallet.” he commanded. It was really the briefcase that was important to his employer, but taking the wallet was standard practice, and if he could get a couple hundred extra on top of the sizable paycheck, then all the better.

The man slowly pulled his wallet out of his pocket and offered it backwards to Jeremy.

“Drop it.” Jeremy ordered. He was new to the game, but he wasn’t an idiot.

The hand holding the wallet retreated, and the man’s shoulders twitched. He let the wallet fall to the ground and shifted on his feet like he was uncomfortable.

“Alright, now get out of here.” Jeremy growled, pushing the man forward a couple of inches forward with the gun. There was no need to hurt him when the contract did not require it, and he had been compliant. Overall, this had been a fairly easy mugging.

The man took a step forward, and then suddenly twisted back, turning towards Jeremy. He lashed out with one hand and grabbed Jeremy’s outstretched arm, putting pressure on the wrist and scrabbling with his other hand at the gun.

It was the sheer shock of someone fighting back with their fists when he clearly outgunned him that made Jeremy lose his grip on the firearm. It flew out of his hand, and skittered away a couple of feet, out of reach.

The man threw a punch. He didn’t have great form, but he still had the element of surprise, and Jeremy caught a heavy fist in the chest before he could react. He let out a sharp breath with the impact and stumbled back half a step. Pulling up his fists, Jeremy sized up his opponent.

They were probably about the same age, and the other man was taller than Jeremy, though that wasn’t a very defining feature, probably at least six foot and change. He had dark hair and a face that might have been friendly if he had not been concentrating on how to take Jeremy down. Despite his stature, he still had some roundness to his shoulders, and Jeremy guessed that he was not the sort of person who spent a great deal of their time fighting for their life.

Jeremy pushed forward with a quick punch to the gut, the solar plexus being too far up to hit comfortably. The man took a not-half-bad swing, but it was easy to dunk under, and Jeremy followed up with a second and third hit, curving around slightly to get the guy in the side and avoid his fists again.

But he’s too close now, and a lucky strike clips his head. Jeremy stumbled back, momentarily distracted. The other man takes advantage, and whacks him in the side of the head, more confident now that Jeremy is injured, and delivers a solid punch to the face.

It hurts like hell, but it doesn’t feel like there’s anything broken, so Jeremy lets his face follow the punch back, head still snapping to the side as he kicks out, catching the guy in the shin. The man yelps and hops back, but Jeremy’s just getting into the swing of it. He kicks again, this time aiming at the back of the knee. The guy folds, kneecaps hitting the concrete hard as Jeremy continues to kick him, this time getting him in the ribs.

Instinct takes over and the other man pulls back, knees pulled up to protect the torso, arms in front the face. He doesn’t look like he’s going to move, so Jeremy takes a second to breathe before going back in. A swift punch to the temple knocks the guy out cold.

Jeremy gives himself a minute or so to regain his bearings, and then makes sure the man is unconscious. He is.

Jeremy retrieves the gun first, and then picks up the wallet and the briefcase. He doesn’t open the briefcase, but the wallet has at least a hundred bucks, a couple of credit cards, and an ID.

Miles Luna.

The name isn’t familiar, but the face on the ID matched both the face of the unconscious man and the photo his employer had given him.

A quick search of the unconscious body provides Jeremy with a cell phone that he can’t unlock and not much else. He takes the money and the briefcase and dumps the rest of the wallet and the cell phone in a dumpster a couple blocks down the street.

Not his cleanest job, but sufficient, and certainly worth the money promised. Being a mugger wasn’t the most fun activity in Los Santos, or the safest, but it paid the bills well enough, and it meant he could drop the second shift at the pizzeria and actually sleep for more than a couple hours each night.

He met with his employer at a seedy bar a few hours later, the kind of bar where the lights are perpetually low and the only thing stronger than the smell of beer was the smell of desperation. It was a little bit cliché, but if the guy didn’t already know that, Jeremy certainly wasn’t going to enlighten him.

Jeremy sat across from the other man at a small booth, and slid the suitcase across the dingy table, making sure to avoid knocking off the empty shot glasses and the half full pint. In any other circumstances Jeremy would have had a matching set of glasses in front of himself, but he didn’t drink on the job.

By this time the cut on his forehead had long clotted, and the bruise across his cheekbone was starting to darken. His employer commented on neither, which is really for the best- Jeremy doesn’t need people thinking he can’t handle himself. This is the first time he’s hired Jeremy, and has made no effort to imply that there will ever be a second time- he doesn’t care how damaged Jeremy may or may not be from the job.

Which is fine, most employers don’t care how beat up Jeremy gets, they just care that he gets the job done.

The man he’s sitting across from is probably a year or two younger than Jeremy himself, early twenties or so, based on the fact that he’s dressed like some kind of frat bro. He’s bulky, either because of weight or heavy clothes. He’s also got a condescending sneer, like he thinks he’s better than everyone else in the room. Between that and the way he treats the waitress, Jeremy would have been tempted to whack this guy in the head, if not for the amount of money he was soon to receive.

The only name Jeremy had been given was Alonzo, but he’s not sure if that’s an alias or not- it’s possible this guy’s cocky enough to tell everyone his real name. Then again, Jeremy’s hardly one to judge. He tried going by a code name when he first started, but found out real quick that the kind of name people take seriously in the ring is not the kind that flies by on the street. Rimmy Tim would have to wait until Jeremy got a bit more street cred in Los Santos. Instead, he usually went by Tim- casual and common enough to satisfy his employers, but still a reference back to his fighting name.

His employer cracks open the briefcase, peering inside. It’s turned away from Jeremy so he can’t see what’s inside, and that was most likely deliberate- the man went to all this trouble to get this briefcase stolen, it’s probably some kind of sensitive information. There’s a faint rustling of papers for half a minute.

Apparently satisfied with the contents of the briefcase, Alonzo closed it with a snap and looked back over at Jeremy.

“Any trouble?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. Which was- okay, now he was just being a dick. Even in the shitty low lighting, the bruise across Jeremy’s cheekbone was clearly visible. Was this supposed to be some kind of test?

“No trouble.” Jeremy replied flatly. No matter what kind of response the other man had been going for, it was true. Jeremy was used to way worse injuries than the bruises he had gotten from the fight a couple of hours ago. The only unfortunate part was that the bruise was in such a prominent place. His boss at the pizzeria wouldn’t care that Jeremy got into a fight, just as long as he didn’t bring them into work, but his roommates would ask questions he didn’t really want to answer.

Whatever weakness Alonzo had been looking for, he didn’t find it. Grinning slightly, he pulled out a wad of cash and pushed it over to Jeremy’s side of the table. Jeremy took a minute to do some mental math to count the bills and their denominations. He wasn’t really expecting to be screwed over, but it was better to be careful.

Confident he had been given the correct amount and that the bills were not counterfeit, Jeremy slipped the cash into an inside pocket of his jacket, and looked back up at Alonzo.

He wasn’t even looking at Jeremy, apparently bored by the proceedings already. His eyes were glued to something else in the bar, and it took a sharp rap of Jeremy’s knuckles against the table to regain his attention.

“We done here?” Jeremy asked, trying to get out of here as quickly as possible. He didn’t like to linger, and this guy seemed like a class A douchewad anyway. He had never expected a dickbag like this to respect him very much, but Jeremy wasn’t gonna let this guy walk all over him.

As soon as Alonzo nodded, still distracted, Jeremy stood up and headed towards the exit, not looking back as the door swung closed behind him. Getting paid was really the only thing that mattered, he didn’t care what was in that briefcase, or what his employer did with it. His job was done, everything was good.

\---

Everything was not good.

Which was a damn shame because things had been finally looking up lately with the extra cash that had come from the most recent job, about a week ago. Having enough money for only necessities was a constantly stressful situation, and it didn’t help that he had roommates that were depending on him. Any job could be the one that caused an injury that he couldn’t pay for, and that sucked. Extra cash meant some breathing room, a chance to relax a little bit. But that was gone now.

Apparently someone had been asking around about him, and not in a nice ‘I’d like to hire you for a job’ kind of way. Whoever these people were, they weren’t trying very hard to be discrete. Word was getting around that some big league was looking for a particular mugger, and they weren’t asking too kindly.

Whoever was looking for him just had a basic physical description, but there weren’t too many men as short as Jeremy in Los Santos, and even less that were also muggers. Not for the first time, Jeremy cursed his height. The jokes were never funny, and it made him damn memorable and easy to identify. Not the best quality for someone who prided himself on being sneaky.

It was probably only a matter of time before someone coughed up his name. There weren’t too many people Jeremy had worked with that would think twice before giving him up. He never gave out his real last name, but most people he had worked for in the industry knew he went by Jeremy. If he showed up when one of those guys looking for him were there… well that would just spell bad news, and as much as he loved getting into fights, this seemed like the kind of confrontation he would want to avoid.

Maybe if he was lucky, laying low until the heat died down would work, but it probably wouldn’t be that easy. It may be better to take a break and disappear for a while. It would make things more difficult financially to quick cold turkey on the side jobs, but Jeremy wasn’t interested in getting involved in whatever shitstorm was about to occur. That’s why he had kept the shift at the pizzeria, after all- in case everything went south, he’d still have some income.

It was probably something to do with Alonzo, the fucker. These were probably friends of the Luna guy he beat up. Jeremy knew the money was too good, the job too simple. He should have known there was some kind of catch involved, nothing ever came free in Los Santos. Whatever was in that briefcase, someone powerful must want it back, and they’d decided their only link to it was through Jeremy.

Well shit. Whatever kind of enemies Alonzo had, Jeremy didn’t want them. Whatever beef was there, Jeremy had no stakes in, but apparently that meant very little to whoever was looking for him. And he wasn’t keen on trying to explain that. So that meant sticking to working at the pizzeria for a while now, which sucked, but was a better alternative than getting caught by whoever Alonzo had pissed off.

Dwight’s Pizza was a dingy place that always seemed to smell like burnt crust. The floors were tacky with spilt soda, and when Jeremy stands still long enough at the register, he’d have to tug at his shoes to get them to unstuck. The wallpaper probably hadn’t been updated for about twenty years. It was a little bit run-down, like most of the poorer places in Los Santos. Jeremy had chosen to work there because it was in walking distance from his apartment and didn’t ask for a resumé when he applied.

Sometimes he worked at the counter, and sometimes delivered pizzas, depending upon who else was working. Mostly they kept Jeremy working in-store because he didn’t have a car and would need to use the shitty communal bike. It was a miracle the thing hadn’t been stolen and scrapped for parts yet, saved only for the fact that it probably wasn’t worth dick.

The pizzeria was nearly always deserted, but still managed to feel cramped at all times of the day. The tinny speakers played the same ten royalty-free songs the manager had bothered to download onto a crappy old iPod shuffle. Unlike the bike, the iPod had been stolen on several occasions and was in fact the reason why the guy who worked the register before Jeremy had been fired. The manager had insisted that his employee had been trying to steal the out-of-date technology, but Jeremy’s predecessor said he just wanted the music to stop. Due to the fact that the shuffle was barely worth anything by now, and it had been found in the trashcan out back, no legal action was ever taken.

“Welcome to Dwight’s Pizza what can I get for you?” Jeremy asked flatly when the semi-regular crowd stoned university kids stumbled in just around lunch, managing to contain a yawn. They were probably the only thing keeping the business afloat. Most of the college students went someplace nicer, but the stoner kids often too high to care, and when they were sober, they were putting all their money towards weed anyway.

Sometimes Jeremy considered giving it a go himself, see what the hype was about, but weed was fucking expensive, he didn’t have the money for that. Besides, he liked being angry too goddamn much to ever settle for relaxed and mellow. He was looking for an adrenalin rush, not a trip. Working in a pizza shop was boring, that was at least part of the reason he got into mugging.

The college kids trickled out after lunch, but Jeremy knew from experience that they’d be back around midnight, taking advantage of late closing time. Since those were the busy times, it was not a surprise to Jeremy that only a couple more people showed up during his shift. A couple of tourists who honestly looked lost, a lone teenager who nursed a soda in the corner for a full hour, a man who ordered a couple of boxes and laughed when the grease dripped onto the floor, and a couple who quickly decided their order was to go when they saw how dirty the tables sitting inside were.

A few weeks droned on, slipping lazily through his fingers, slower than molasses. Jeremy hated waiting, hated not being productive. He was starting to feel the financial strain from not being able to work his real job, and it was making him antsy. However, he couldn’t just go back. His contact (although he was using the word rather loosely) told him the heat had not died down. Someone was still looking for him, and for now that meant he was still stuck serving pizzas and pretending he didn’t see his boss sneak money out of the tip jar.

The pizzeria was open 10am-4am, and the six-hour shifts meant the boss was able to skirt giving his employees the benefits full-time employees would enjoy. The only way he’d allowed Jeremy to take two shifts before was with the understanding that Jeremy wouldn’t try and get benefits or overtime pay. He wondered now if this carried on much longer, whether he’d have to beg to get that second shift back.

But working only one shift now meant that it was still daytime by the time he was headed home, and it meant he could actually see his roommates once in a while, which had dramatically improved his relationship with them. Most of his fighting and mugging work had been done at night, leaving the evenings free to listen to music and borrow his roommate’s computer. It was a good thing Jeremy never watched movies anyway, because they couldn’t afford a tv.

Heading home at night had usually meant dodging whores and small-time drug dealers that were wandering around the streets, and walking home in the middle of the day instead was a dramatic improvement due to the lack of them.

However today, something didn’t feel right. Jeremy couldn’t relax and enjoy the good weather, something in him stayed alert, searching for danger. That was instinct, mostly. Living in Los Santos meant never truly letting your guard down, meant always waiting for the next person looking to stab you in the back. It was an instinct that ad saved his life a fair amount of times, and he wasn’t going to start ignoring it now. Something was wrong.

Jeremy felt eyes on his back. He didn’t turn around, that was a rookie move, and would only alert whoever was following him that he was onto them. Instead, he veered over to the next crosswalk, no longer pointed in the direction of home.

The idea was to find a more populated area, and at best lose his stalker in the crowds. At worst it meant he at least wasn’t leading them back to his home and roommates.

He wasn’t carrying at the moment- his gun was hidden in a box that attached to the underside of the slats in his bedframe. It was safe- and of completely no use to him now. Jeremy cursed himself for becoming complacent. He didn’t usually carry around the gun unless he was on a job. At first after the last job, he had expected someone to find him, and had carried the gun everywhere. Unfortunately, he’d grown overconfident with the weeks that had passed and no response, and he’d stopped taking it to the pizzeria with him.

He regretted that decision now. Instead he just had a knife- useful for street fights, but barely worth anything against someone who was already on their guard.  And who probably had a gun. Dammit.

A couple blocks later, Jeremy was in a more commercial area, the sidewalks fuller with locals and tourists. He still felt someone following him. Still facing forward, walking slowly, Jeremy eyed the people in front of him, and picked a target. There. A college girl, who was walking slowly towards him, head turned down towards her cell phone. She looked like a normal kid, not poor enough to be suspicious, not rich enough to be offended. Most importantly, she was distracted.

Jeremy shifted left as he walked, and as they passed, bumped his shoulder into hers. She stumbled slightly but didn’t fall.

“Shit, sorry, you okay?” He asked, turning back halfway to face her.

“Yeah, fine.” The girl mumbled, already absorbed back into whatever she was looking at on her phone, but Jeremy wasn’t paying attention.

Instead, he used that time, having turned around to face the girl, to look further down the sidewalk behind him.

There was no obvious stalker, no one looking directly at him, no one who looked particularly suspicious. Whoever his newly acquired stalker was, they were also taking advantage of the crowd and hiding among pedestrians. There were a few businessmen, a lady pushing a stroller, a homeless man, a bunch of college kids, and a slew of random Los Santos citizens. None of the faces looked particularly suspicious or familiar, but he didn’t get a great chance to look. The college-age girl was already walking away without waiting for a response from Jeremy, and he had to turn back around.

Without any new information, it might be time to turn towards drastic measures. Up ahead was a large clumping of people, tourists who were meandering slowly, taking their time to view the meager sites of Los Santos. They were dumb, unthreatening, and most importantly, tall. Jeremy sped up slightly to engulf himself in their group and stayed with them for half a block until they passed by an alleyway.

It was fairly narrow, dark and empty. Jeremy peeled off from the tourists and slipped into the alleyway. The buildings on either side were tall and made out of brick. The one on the left had a fire escape ladder.

Jeremy walked down the alley, ears straining. He picked up footsteps, which grew louder as they went further into the alleyway. Jeremy chanced a look over his shoulder. There was a man following him. Jeremy sped up his pace, and the man matched him. Shit, shit, okay this was happening. Jeremy burst into a sprint.

The man behind him, aware the jig was up, shouted. “Hey, stop, fucker!”

Jeremy did not stop. It took great mental fortitude to not look back and check if the guy was pointing a gun at him. He didn’t hear any gunshots, and that would have to do.

At the back of the alley was a chain link fence at least eight feet tall, and on the other side, more alleyway leading off to another street.

Jeremy didn’t slow down. Just before he reached the fence, he took a running jump, and grabbed as high up as he could. Clinging to the chain link, Jeremy used his head start to climb up as quickly as he could, doing his best spider monkey impression and clambering up the fence. Chain link wasn’t hard to climb, but Jeremy had more experience than most, and hopefully this would catch up the man behind him long enough for Jeremy to escape.

The footsteps behind him skidded to a stop, and the man shouted at him, but didn’t try climbing after him. For a moment, Jeremy thought he was home free.

He was almost at the top of the fence when another voice sounded. The building on the right had its fire escape on the other side of the fence, and there was a man standing on the lowest landing.

“Ahh, wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He sounded amused.

The Vagabond’s mask was clearly visible, even in the low lighting. He had a gun pointed towards Jeremy.

Jeremy froze on the fence, and the man behind him snorted.

The Vagabond flicked his gun to the side, and taking the hint, Jeremy slipped down the fence in a few controlled falls, still keeping his eyes on the Vagabond as his feet touched the ground.

“Fucking, turn around, asshole.” The man behind him sounded annoyed, and as the Vagabond didn’t do anything to dissuade him, Jeremy spun around slowly to face the man who’d spoken.

And really, he should have expected this.

The Vagabond had been active for a number of years, haunting the streets of Los Santos. Not a lot of mercenaries get the notoriety the Vagabond was awarded with, but the skull mask was instantly recognizable, an anomaly in the waves of criminals who passed by unnoticed in Los Santos. Simple killers were a dime a dozen, but the Vagabond had earned his reputation by being untouchable. He’d come from the southeast, leaving a bloody trail across the country that led right to Los Santos.

For anyone who kept an eye on their fellow criminals, the Vagabond was well-known for not staying in one place for very long, never working with others, and never signing on with a crew. He had been notoriously untethered, showing no loyalty to any crew, gang, or mob. This had all changed in the past year or two.

The Vagabond, who had been in Los Santos for a number of years already, had signed on to a crew. He’d joined the Fakes, the most infamous group in the area. So Jeremy really should have expected this as soon as he saw the skull mask, but his mind had been in panic mode as soon as he had started running.

Standing in front of him was Geoff Ramsey. Kingpin of the Fake AH Crew. And he did not look happy.

Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect this chapter to take as long as it did, but this story was never supposed to be this long, and it's still going.

Ramsey kept his gun trained on Jeremy as the Vagabond quietly climbed over the fence and dropped with a soft thud next to the two of them. He was even more intimidating in person than on tv, and they were both so fucking tall, it wasn’t fair.

Add that to the fact that they both had guns and Jeremy just had a shitty little knife strapped to his arm, and he was feeling pretty nervous right now. The only saving grace was that they hadn’t shot him yet, so maybe they weren’t planning on killing him, but even that prognosis wasn’t looking too good. Ramsey looked pretty pissed. Jeremy couldn’t see the Vagabond’s face, but imagined that he was also scowling.

Ramsey was wearing a hoodie, which covered up the majority of the iconic tattoos. He must have been hiding in one of the groups of pedestrians, or Jeremy would have recognized him earlier. The kingpin was fairly easy to identify, even though he no longer had the moustache he had been once well-known for. The lack of Ramsey’s usual uniform of a tuxedo and the addition of a fairly sizable beard meant the man was only recognizable at a short distance.

So these were the people that were looking for Jeremy: the Fakes. That explained why they hadn’t given up on finding him, they weren’t some small-time gang looking to make a point. Whatever he’d done to garner their attention, it had been significant, and they weren’t going to let it go any time soon.

Jeremy suddenly felt a rush of anger towards Alonzo. He had never wanted to get dragged into petty rivalries, that’s why he hadn’t joined a gang already. But pissing off the biggest crew in the city- that was more than just a dumb move, that was practically suicide, and Jeremy wanted no part in it. Unfortunately, he was now involved, like it or not. At the business end of a gun was definitely not how Jeremy had imagined his first encounter with the Fakes going down.

“Alright kid, let’s start simple. What’s your name?” Ramsey asked, still scowling, still pointing his pistol at Jeremy’s torso. While this wasn’t ideal, at least they hadn’t knocked him out and dragged him to some sort of murder dungeon. It spoke well to the possibility of him surviving this encounter, or at least getting a quick death. While Jeremy certainly didn’t want to die, it was better than having his extremities cut off slowly by the Vagabond. Jeremy had heard too many stories about the mercenary to be anything but terrified by him.

They were still waiting for an answer. Jeremy suddenly found his mouth extremely dry.

“Jeremy Dooley.” He said quickly, managing not to squeak even though he was nervous as dicks. He didn’t even considering lying. They had found him, followed him from work, it would not be difficult for them to find out his name, if they didn’t already know. And he didn’t want to make them even more pissed at him than they already were, about something that didn’t even matter all that much.

“Okay, and now who do you work for?” Ramsey asked, apparently aware of how cliché his question was. Marginally happier that Jeremy knew they weren’t fucking around, his expression had moved from pissed to deadpan, deliberately not showing any amusement he might have felt at acting like a procedural tv cop.

“Dwight’s Pizza.” Jeremy blurted out without thinking.

It was technically true, as he didn’t have any side jobs going on at the moment, but it was definitely not the answer Ramsey had been asking for. At this rate Jeremy was gonna get himself shot.

“Alright smartass,” Ramsey growled, now annoyed again, “I can ask the questions, or he can.” Ramsey gestured towards the man standing next to him. The Vagabond remained silent, and despite Ramsey’s words, looked remarkably like he wouldn’t be saying a word during this encounter.

Jeremy got the point.

“Now. A few weeks ago, you mugged someone, and you took a briefcase from them.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” Jeremy answered dutifully anyway.

“That job. Did someone pay you to do it?”

“… Yes.” He answered slower this time. Jeremy liked the only questions and no torture direction the interrogation had taken so far, and he held no loyalty to Alonzo, but he didn’t get to where he was by selling others out, and no one liked a snitch. If word got out he was willing to turn coat after a couple harsh words, people would start to think he’d sell them out just as easily.

It would be bad for business, but also bad for plan: stay alive.

“Who hired you?” Ramsey demanded. It wasn’t really a question anymore, it was spoken more like a threat.

Jeremy didn’t say anything.

Ramsey sighed, sounding very put-upon. “I already explained this. Easy. Hard.” He gestured towards himself and the Vagabond accordingly.

It took a lot out of Jeremy to not make the accompanying joke.

When Jeremy didn’t say anything, Ramsey took a half step forward.

“Look,” Jeremy said placatingly, “I can’t just tell you who it was. They’ll find out I blabbed, and then I’m dead, face down in some ditch.”

“Or you could not tell us and then you’re dead in some much more painful and horribly embarrassing way.” Ramsey offered.

There was a moment of silence.

“You raise a fair point.” Jeremy conceded. He had seen some of the Vagabond’s work when the mercenary was feeling bored. As much as death was an unpleasant possibility, dead with his head crammed onto the top of the LSPD flagpole was by far a worse situation to be in. He also had no desire for his skull to become a piece in some sort of bone chandelier, one of the more outlandish, but quickly becoming more plausible, stories told about the Vagabond.

“And then,” Ramsey continued, apparently thinking that Jeremy was not yet terrified enough, “we’d just take a ride over to your apartment and talk to your roommates. Maybe they know who hired you. But they seem like nice boys, I’m sure you don’t want to involve them.”

Jeremy froze. That would not be… ideal. In fact, it would be pretty much worst-case scenario. He actually liked his roommates, and even if he didn’t, he certainly didn’t want to be responsible for their torture and deaths. Protecting them, even if it meant putting himself in danger, was worth it.

“Alright, Alright!” Jeremy said quickly, trying to pacify them. “He said his name was Alonzo, looked Latino, I guess. He didn’t give a last name, and he just hired me for the one job, didn’t have me do anything else. I still got a phone number, but I’m pretty sure it was a flip-phone. I was supposed to knock the guy down, take the briefcase, and deliver it, that’s it.”

He blurted out as much information as he could, hoping it would be enough to satisfy them. The phone, while useful for contacting his employer, was unlikely to help the Fakes. Burner phones could be discarded easily, and the likelihood that Alonzo had kept the thing after the job was over was unlikely.

“How’d you know who to go for?” Ramsey asked, looking a bit more relaxed now that Jeremy had given in without too much trouble.

“He gave me a photograph, told me the area the guy would be in at a certain time. It took me a couple days to find him.” Jeremy answered.

“How did you deliver the briefcase?”

“We met at a bar a couple hours later, I just handed the thing over and left.” Jeremy was a bit worried that he didn’t have a lot of useful information. He was all-in at this point, and if the Fakes were unsatisfied with what he had to tell them, they might threaten him again.

Ramsey was frowning, and paused for a moment, and the Vagabond took over the questioning. “What bar did you meet at?”

“…Hi-Men.” Offered Jeremy, wrinkling his nose at the name a little bit. “Over in Rancho.”

Ramsey snorted, but looked serious.

“Rancho, huh?”

He glanced over at the Vagabond, and they looked at each other for a second, before apparently agreeing on something.

“The fucking Vagos.” Ramsey sighed, sounding vexed.

Jeremy had heard of the Vagos, but was only peripherally aware of them. They were a street gang in southeast Los Santos, a fairly large one. Jeremy didn’t know why they were trying to attack the Fakes, but it seemed pretty stupid of them.

“Again? Seriously?” The Vagabond grunted. “It would make sense.” The mercenary admitted reluctantly, after a moment.

Jeremy really hoped that them talking freely in front of him didn’t mean they planned to kill him anyway, so it didn’t matter what he heard.

“We’re gonna have to deal with them.” Ramsey muttered. “But how are we-”

Ramsey glanced over at Jeremy, and his eyes lit up in a way that made Jeremy very, very nervous. He really hoped he wasn’t about to get shot. The Vagabond let out a low chuckle, either at the prospect of some good old-fashioned murder, or maybe at how terrified Jeremy probably looked right now.

“Okay, here’s the plan now, kid.” Ramsey said as they both turned their full attention back to Jeremy. “You? You work for me now.”

“I what?” Jeremy asked, blinking. He must have heard wrong, must be hallucinating right now. Because there’s no way that Geoff Ramsey, leader of the Fake AH Crew, just said that.

“Hey, you wanna get out of here alive?” Ramsey demanded aggressively. “Then you work for us. And you’re gonna help us take down the Vagos.”

\---

There was a slight possibility that Jeremy was in over his head.

He wandered home in a haze, somehow unharmed after being confronted by the kingpin of the Fakes, the biggest crew in Los Santos, and the fucking Vagabond, scariest motherfucker _ever_.

Jeremy took a slower pace than usual, focusing more on gathering his thoughts than on speed.

The Fake AH Crew. Wow. Okay.

It took Jeremy awhile to process this and calm down his erratic breathing.

So he’d just been blackmailed into joining the biggest crew in Los Santos. This was okay. This was not the worst thing that could have happened, honestly. This was-

_The coolest thing ever._

Jeremy had been following the actions of the Fake AH Crew since he moved to Los Santos. They were more infamous than famous, but it had not been hard to learn about the top criminals in the city. When he’d been a newcomer, it seemed like everyone had a story they were desperate to tell about that time they were in a bank when the Fakes had robbed it, or how they’d seen the crew cruising by at breakneck speed on the freeway.

They weren’t quite local celebrities, weren’t quite Bonnie and Clyde, but the way people spoke about them, it was if they were expecting to turn around and have the devils themselves standing behind them.

It was the kind of reputation Jeremy had only dreamed of. He would admit, he’d gotten perhaps a little too enthusiastic about following their heists. The Fakes were really the only reason he watched the news, to keep up with what they had done recently. It took up so much of his time, even his roommates noticed, and had even begun teasing him about it.

The Fakes were legends in the underground world, it was a miracle they hadn’t been able to find him sooner. No one smart said no to the Fakes. They were the most powerful crew in Los Santos, and they’d gotten there by being ruthless to their enemies, and richly rewarding their allies. If Ramsey was right, and the Vagos had been the ones to hire him, this wasn’t just a theft, it was more an act of war. The Fakes would not likely take being stolen from lying down.

Ramsey didn’t become the most powerful man in the state by being anything but merciless.

Jeremy was well aware that he had gotten off very, very lightly considering what he did.  It probably also meant that they didn’t just want him for one job like other employers had before.

He belonged to the Fakes now.

Jeremy understood that this was a very dangerous position to be in, but he couldn’t help the almost giddy feeling rising in his stomach (although it may have also been nerves).

One way or another, he now worked for the Fakes. Being cornered in an alleyway and blackmailed was not exactly the way he had imagined it would have happened, but nevertheless, it was the same end result.

Jeremy wasn’t just aware of the Fakes. He was a _fan_.

He certainly wasn’t the only one, at least going by the forums online, but he had become somewhat of an expert, learning all he could about their work.

And now he got to work for them? It was like a dream come true.

He knew their heists, their personas. They were an inspiration, they-

_They must never know._

Jeremy was suddenly filled with an icy cold wave of panic, and he stumbled on the sidewalk, barely managing to catch himself.

The Fakes could never know he was a fan.

At best they’d relentlessly make fun of him and never let it go. At worst, they’d terminate his employment, and then likely terminate him.

This was blackmail, it was punishment, he wasn’t supposed to enjoy it. If they found out Jeremy was happy to work for them, they might find a better way to hurt him for stealing from them.

So they could absolutely not find out that Jeremy had persistently followed their exploits, and may or may not have a choice newspaper clipping or two hidden away in his room. They had graced the front page more than once or twice, hardly anyone could blame Jeremy for appreciating the cinematic photographs.

Except they could probably definitely blame him, so those would need to be destroyed as soon as possible.

It occurred suddenly to Jeremy that not only was he already at his apartment complex, he’d been walking around and around the block for a couple loops. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts, he’d hardly noticed. The stumble had garnered him a couple side glances, but it did no one good to pay too much attention to anyone else in his area, so he was largely ignored.

Three locked doors and multiple flights of stairs later, Jeremy was back in his tiny apartment. He wondered idly if working for the Fakes meant he was going to get paid at all. He could do with the kind of money the Fakes picked up, this place was falling apart.

When Jeremy walked in the front door, both his roommates were sitting on the couch. Matt had his head tilted back and was dozing lightly, and Trevor was buried deep within an intimidatingly large book. Jeremy flopped down on the ground by their feet, managing to startle Trevor. Matt slept on.

Jeremy and Matt had been roommates for almost three years now. They’d met soon after Jeremy moved to Los Santos. He was out of money and desperate for a place to live. Matt’s old roommate had suddenly stopped showing up at the apartment and, more importantly, had stopped paying his half of the rent. Eventually Matt had decided that his old roommate was probably dead and began looking for a new one.

Jeremy had beaten out the admittedly more reputable contenders and had gotten the second bedroom of the apartment by offering to move all of the old roommate’s shit out of the apartment. Matt, who was lovable but lazy as sin, took Jeremy up on the offer.

They got along well, content to let the other do their thing. Matt never asked when Jeremy came home covered in bruises, and Jeremy never asked about… whatever shady shit Matt was probably in. He had never actually seen Matt do anything suspicious, except that time he had eaten nothing but M&M’s for a week straight, but there had to be something. He worked at an electronics store, one of the little dingy ones that rarely got any customers. It was because of his job that Matt had been able to get a computer for cheap- his boss had probably been desperate for a sale.

 Trevor, their unofficial third roommate, had moved in a little less than a year ago. He helped with their frankly criminal rent but wasn’t officially on the lease. The apartment was only meant for two people, so Trevor slept on the couch, and hid whenever the landlord bothered to come by.

Unlike Jeremy and Matt, Trevor had no hesitation in sharing his criminal activities. He spent most of his time on the university campus, picking pockets. He was about the right age and was certainly smart enough to pass as a college student. He was tall, lanky, and had the kind of smile that made other people trust him. When he wasn’t stealing from the rich kids, or sneaking into the dining hall for lunch, Trevor spent his time attending lectures. The classes were too big for anyone to notice an extra student, and once he started stealing textbooks too he fit right in.

Jeremy decided to not tell either one of them what had happened earlier today. They knew he had been acting off the past few weeks but didn’t know why. There was nothing they could do about the threats and telling them he had been hired by the Fakes would only lead to them teasing him about being a fan of their work. Which was bullshit anyway, it wasn’t like the two of them didn’t follow the Fakes, Jeremy was just the most dedicated of them.

Besides, he wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to tell them about it. Besides, he had never talked about his employers to his roommates before. There was no reason that should change now that he was in a group rather than doing one-off jobs. While he would definitely feel an obligation to warn Matt and Trevor if he thought they were in danger, it seemed like the Fakes would leave his roommates alone as long as Jeremy kept doing what they wanted him to do.

Friday night usually meant going out drinking, but Jeremy was feeling kind of overwhelmed from the day’s activities and wanted to dodge any questions his roommates might ask. Jeremy wondered when they’d call him. Ramsey had told him that they’d be using him to take down the Vagos, but he hadn’t given much explanation. It was very much a ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’ sort of situation, except Jeremy was pretty sure the Fakes wouldn’t go through all the work of tracking him down if they were planning on standing him up.

They called sooner than he expected- in fact, the call woke him up. It was about noon- on the weekends he slept in as much as possible, because he could, and because the majority of his side work took place during the evening. The habit hadn’t worn off in the few weeks since he had stopped that side of his income. The annoying buzzing reverberated through his skull, and he was still half asleep when he answered. The cell phone had been expensive, but critical in his line of work.

“Hello?” Jeremy asked sleepily, not bothering to check who had called.

“We’re introducing you to the crew. Meeting tonight, at 8, I’ll text you the address. Clear your schedule for the next month.” Ramsey sounded like he was already in a bad mood, which was impressive considering how short the conversation had been. It was probably because he was talking to Jeremy, the man who until yesterday, he had been relentlessly hunting down. Really, pissing him off so quickly was probably some kind of accomplishment.

“I’ve got work on Monday.” Jeremy responded, like an idiot. Why the hell wasn’t he jumping on the opportunity to begin work with the Fakes right away?

“Quit your fucking job, asshole.” Ramsey sounded annoyed. “You work for me now.”

“I mean, I gotta get paid somehow.” Jeremy complained. It definitely didn’t come out more like a whine.

 Ramsey sighed, like he was done with Jeremy’s bullshit. “Kid, you wanna work for me, or you wanna get shot? You’ll get paid for the job, just get your ass to the fucking meeting.” He hung up.

The delight at the news that he was apparently going to get paid quickly overwhelmed the worry that he had already pissed off his new employer. He actually had no idea what it was the Fakes AH Crew wanted him to do, but this was already more job security than he had ever had at any other job.

The cell phone buzzed with a text before Jeremy cheerfully called up Dwight’s Pizza and informed his boss happily that he had no intention to step foot in that shithole again. It was the smallest bit nerve-wracking to be quitting his job on anything but Ramsey’s word, but he was confident the kingpin wouldn’t go back on what he said. There was no reason for Ramsey to lie- Jeremy would already be working for him, pay or not, the threats to his roommates was enough for that.

A nervous energy followed Jeremy around all morning. His roommates definitely would have noticed it, but Trevor had already left for the day, and Matt was still asleep. The address was for a place in downtown Los Santos called Shenanigan’s Bar. Jeremy had never been, most of the places in the nicer parts of Los Santos were needlessly expensive.

Nevertheless, he tried to dress as professional as possible. Or at least, as professional as his admittedly odd wardrobe allowed. The yellow pants stayed at home, the cowboy hat and purple blazer did not. He had a whole aesthetic thing going on, he wasn’t going to abandon it now, even in the face of full-time employment. The aviators also came long despite the fact the sun was down by then. It afforded him the smallest bit of protection, though just psychological, not physical.

Matt and Trevor didn’t ask Jeremy where he was going when he left the apartment, still adhering to the unspoken agreement not to ask about extracurricular activities. Jeremy decided to take this as a sign that all was well, and neither of his roommates were aware that their lives had been briefly threatened by the biggest crew in Los Santos.

He got to the bar a couple minutes early. He wanted to try and scope out the place a little bit, and ideally not piss of his future boss quite so quickly this time.

However, this was not to be.

As soon as he walked in the door, an unspecific yell and a waving arm called Jeremy over to a table in the corner. It wasn’t exactly a long dining room table, but Jeremy was still getting godfather vibes. There were four people sitting with Ramsey, two on each side. Directly across from the kingpin was an open spot for Jeremy, which wasn’t intimidating at all. He pulled out the open chair and sat. The music was loud enough that no one could hear the sound as it scraped against the floor: a miracle and a half.

In this chair he was facing away from the rest of the room, and this fact made the back of his neck itch uncomfortably. There aren’t many other tables filled, but it’s more instinct causing his reaction than actually worry. Jeremy knows that he’s already facing the biggest danger in the room.

There’s a clustering of beers in the middle of the table, both empty and full, but only three people at the table are drinking; both Ramsey and the Vagabond actually have soda cans in front of them. A beer is shoved in front of Jeremy as he weights his policy of not drinking on the job with the possibility that refusing a drink would be seen as rude. Trying to compromise, he opens the bottle, but doesn’t drink. Not yet.

He keeps his eyes on Ramsey, but he’s aware of the others. To Ramsey’s right are the Vagabond and Pattillo, to his left are Mogar and Gavino. No one except the Vagabond, who is still wearing his mask, are doing very much to hide their identities. It’s not that big of surprise, their names aren’t too hard to find out if you’re determined enough- something that Jeremy is, but most run of the mill criminals in Los Santos may not.

“Gavin, Michael and Jack.” Ramsey points them out in turn. “And of course, you know the two of us.” He says, gesturing to himself and the Vagabond.

Jeremy nods, and doesn’t bother introducing himself. He’s well aware that they’ve probably talked about him extensively. Which isn’t terrifying at all. Probably.

“We’ve looked over your previous work.” Pattillo stated, as if she could read Jeremy’s mind. Which he really, really hoped she couldn’t, or else she’d know how utterly freaked out he was right now. “Normally we’d just get the answers we need and have the Vagabond deal with you,” Pattillo shrugged, as if murder was just an unfortunate side effect of needing information, “but we believe you can actually do some good work for us, even after this job. So, think of this as a trial period.”

Jeremy nodded again, eyes wide. This was better than he had hoped for.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Ramsey interjected. “We’ll see if you survive this first job, and then we’ll see if we want to keep you.”

Jeremy wondered if that was why Ramsey had been so easy to promise Jeremy would get paid- if he died on this job, they wouldn’t need to worry about paying him. That should have probably raised a couple flags, but if Jeremy died, getting paid wouldn’t be his first priority either, so the whole issue ranked low on his “shit I should worry about” scale.

Besides, it made no sense that they’d try and recruit him after he had attacked one of their employees.

 “Why are you even trusting me to help with this?” It wasn’t the smartest question to ask, but Jeremy had to know.

“Look, I’ll be honest, giving up your employer before even a little bit of torture- that’s not good, that’s a strike against you.” Pattillo shrugged. “But he _was_ a past employer, not someone you were working for at the time, which is a little better. Plus, when you did give up the info, it was out of loyalty to your friends, not fear for your own life, which we don’t discount. We’ve got our eye on you, of course, but your record shows you mostly know how to keep your mouth shut, and you’re useful enough to this operation to keep around. Not all of our recruits come fully trained like the Vagabond. You should have seen Gav when he was fresh off the boat.”

Pattillo rolled her eyes, grinning slightly. Jeremy was very certain that the comment on Gavino was likely more of an attempt to be friendly than actual commentary on her fellow crew member’s skills, but he was grateful for the olive branch. He grinned back at her quickly, and took it in good humor, snorting. Gavino made a squawk of protest, but restrained himself from actually saying anything.

Jeremy let his gaze drift back to Ramsey. He realized he hadn’t actually said anything to Pattillo’s explanation, and everyone was just kind of looking at him expectantly, so now was a great time to ask what the hell he was doing here.

“So, what the hell am I doing here?” Jeremy asked. It came out more direct than he had intended originally but he ran with it. “What’s the plan? How the hell I am supposed to help?”

The Fakes exchanged a couple looks after his question. Jeremy had no idea what they were communicating, but apparently, they came to some sort of consensus. The group, as if one, shifted slightly, relaxing their posture. Gavino leaned back from the table, resting further back in his seat. The Vagabond, in contrast, leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. Pattillo took a sip of her drink, as she and Mogar half-turned their heads towards Ramsey. It was very dramatic. Jeremy was very impressed.

Ramsey took a moment before he spoke.

“What do you know about the Vagos?” He asked finally. Gavino and Mogar took that as their cue to leave, and both headed over towards the bar.

“Not much.” Jeremy admitted. “Street gang, southeast Los Santos. I think they work in drugs. I don’t normally get involved in gang stuff, never had a reason to know any more.”

Ramsey nodded. “The Vagos used to be a big name in drug trafficking. They were international and shit. Not very well organized, not like a mafia, but widespread. But a little over ten years ago, they started to collapse. High profile leaders were disappearing, stock was destroyed, everyone was accusing everyone. There was no trust, and when things started going south, they all ended up betraying each other. When the dust settled most of the ringleaders ended up dead or in jail. Small sections have popped back up, but it’s nothing like the empire that the Vagos used to be.”

“What happened?” Jeremy asked the obligatory question. He might have been the smallest bit starstruck. What could he say? Ramsey was a good storyteller.

Ramsey tilted his head towards the Vagabond, a proud smile gracing his face. It looked genuine, and made Ramsey look younger, but no less intimidating.

“Vagabond took them out.” Ramsey said, his smile now just this side of bloodthirsty. “He infiltrated their ranks, took down their top dog, and when they fell into chaos, he went around to each of the subdivisions, and took them out too.”

The Vagabond chuckled. “It’s how I got my name.” He volunteered, sounding almost cheerful at the thought of global slaughter.

“So that’s why the Vagos attacked your guy.” Jeremy decided now was not a great time to mention he had been a key element in that plot.

Pattillo nodded. “Luna was carrying documents- passports, bonds, stuff like that. We can get new ones, that’s not a huge issue, but with those they might be able to trace them back to our forger, or memorize his style, so when we have something else done, they’ll be able to easily tell what’s fake. But more importantly, the attack was brazen- if we don’t retaliate, and soon, it’ll be taken as a sign of weakness.”

“You guys are huge here though.” Jeremy said, confused. “They’d never win that war, why would a recovering gang make such a suicidal move?”

The Vagabond leaned in even closer. “We think there were some loyal members after all, who managed to survive the purge. They’re likely looking for revenge.” He chuckled again, but his tone was still all business. “They never really forgave me for betraying their boss.”

“Who?” Jeremy asked. This time, he could here the smile in the Vagabond’s voice, cruel and amused.

“Edgar Carlos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to stay as faithful to the GTA V universe as I could (excluding Dwight's Pizza, that's from Dead by Daylight), although I have never played the game. The GTA wiki was very helpful in this story. Hi-Men is regrettably the only bar that I could be sure was in Vagos territory, and Shenanigans was too perfect to pass up on. Yes, Edgar Carlos is the leader of the Vagos, killing him is part of the Lowriders missions in GTA Online.


	3. Chapter 3

Pattillo had outlined a month-long schedule for taking down the Vagos that night. If that sounded like a ridiculously short amount of time to take down a gang, even one that was a shell of it’s former glory, that’s because it was. Normally they’d take more time, and probably would not have included a newbie, but the broken-down structure of the Vagos meant that they didn’t need do much to completely defeat them. The Vagos were already on shaky foundation; a few well-placed strikes would topple them.

A quick trip to an Ammu-nation allowed Jeremy to prove that he was as competent with a gun as he claimed, and got him stocked up with bullets and body armor. The thick gray vest was a new but welcome addition to his usual ensemble.

The start to the four week-plan was to locate and scope out where the Vagos were housing their headquarters. After the surveillance, a large attack on their base would kill or scatter the remaining members, and after word got out, Ramsey would be able to strong arm their suppliers into abandoning the weakened gang. The best part of the plan was that they wouldn’t need to touch what was left of the Vagos in other parts of the country- they were too disorganized to launch a counter-attack, and too distant to actually give a shit anyway. When the heads of operations were all killed or arrested, any sense of unity among the empire had completely disappeared.

Jeremy was integral to the first part of the plan: locating HQ. it would involve contacting, meeting with, and then bugging and tracking Alonzo, the one member of the Vagos that Jeremy had met.

This was the plan: Jeremy would pretend to have information on the Fakes, and offer to start working for the Vagos. He would give them the false information about the Fakes, spy on the Vagos, and while they were planning an attack, the Fakes would strike first. It- it wasn’t necessarily the best plan.

It also wasn’t horrible, but it relied heavily on the assumption that Alonzo and his fellow gang members were blinded by their greed and desire for revenge. Which wasn’t an unfair assumption, but also put Jeremy right in the crosshairs if they prematurely discovered that he was working for the Fakes, not for the Vagos.

Which Jeremy got, he understood, he was essentially cannon fodder until proven otherwise. And he was used to working alone. It was actually more weird to be working with a group. Sometimes he wondered if the plan was intentionally bad so that they’d be rid of their brand-new member by the end of it. Neat and tidy. But despite the danger, it still felt surreal as hell to be working with the Fakes, to be working with such an important crew.

They had almost instantly clicked, especially Jeremy with the two younger members of the main crew. Michael and Gavin had accepted him into their dynamic, not without ribbing, but fairly easily.

It felt really weird to be working with people whose exploits he had been following for years. Officially, he knew that Michael was a demolitions expert, a fiend with platformers, and despite his (well-deserved) reputation for being explosively loud, was actually one of the more level-headed members of the crew.

Unofficially, he knew all about the criminal activities of the Jones, a pair of pyromaniacs whose work always seemed to result in gratuitous arson, no matter how simple the jobs had started out. They had disappeared mysteriously a couple of years ago, but Jeremy had a good idea of where the couple had ended up.

He had learned other things too, how Ramsey liked being in charge, but didn’t actually like making decisions, how good Pattillo was at pushing people’s buttons and then backing off to watch them explode, and that she had not at all been exaggerating about Gavin’s lack of basic survival training. From what Jeremy could tell, Gavin had survived before the Fakes on a combination of absurd but useful factoids, an ability to genuinely charm other people, and a ridiculous amount of luck.

Keeping his employer a secret from his roommates had been nigh impossible. Apparently when tracking down Jeremy, the Fakes had also done research on Trevor and Matt, and deemed them, if not trustworthy, then at least non-entities.

Because Jeremy didn’t have a car, and didn’t live anywhere near the Fakes’ office, they usually sent someone to pick Jeremy from his apartment. Because the area he lived in was so shit, and the Fakes were so flashy, the cars they used to pick him up in stood out were so conspicuous. It was apparently to save time, but Jeremy knew it was because they wanted to keep an eye on him.

Once he had made the mistake of mentioning it. Ramsey had called him an ungrateful piece of shit (Jeremy would have felt bad about it, but it was hard to take seriously someone who was at that exact moment eating a banana popsicle for breakfast). The next time someone picked him, it was not simply one of the Fakes’ employees in a nice car, it was Mogar driving a chrome Adder, possibly the most conspicuous car in Los Santos.

By now Trevor and Matt must think he was either hired by someone very, very important, or possibly that he had acquired a very nice sugar daddy. He really, really hoped they went with the first option. But neither of his roommates had said anything, because for the most part they respected his privacy.

Actually, that was a bold-faced lie.

Matt had not said anything likely because he legitimately did not care, and also, he was super sleep deprived all the time, and often did not pay very much attention to the things going on around him. Trevor, on the other hand, was a motherfucker on a momentous scale, and took great pleasure in making Jeremy’s life difficult. He had taken to looking out the window at the cars that stopped by, raising his eyebrows, and just saying “hmm” again and again.

Jeremy would definitely be more worried about his roommates finding out and ruining everything with the Fakes if he wasn’t too focused on the Vagos job.

Jeremy had made contact with Alonzo earlier that day. Apparently Alonzo was either the kind of idiot who gave out his real phone number to one-off employees, or he was the kind of cheap bastard who held on to their burner phones after the job was done.

Either way, Alonzo had responded pretty quickly when Jeremy hinted that he had lifted off Miles Luna more than just a briefcase, and that he was interested in selling it to the highest buyer. Alonzo, greedy for anything that would help him against the Fakes, had demanded that they meet that night, at the same bar.

Jeremy was planning on going from Shenanigans, a bar he now knew was owned by an employee of the Fakes, to Hi-Men (the unfortunately named bar in Vagos territory). They felt it was more of a neutral territory, being in downtown Los Santos, in case he was being tailed. Which probably would not happen. Probably.

Everything was going to plan, so why the hell was he so nervous?

The Vagabond announced his presence by cracking his knuckles, a move that would have been intimidating as fuck if he hadn’t immediately followed up with a lazy stretch that also cracked his back.

Jeremy may or may not have jumped a little anyways.

He couldn’t help it. He was already on his last nerve, and The Vagabond (or Ryan, as he had learned just a couple days after meeting the crew because Gav apparently couldn’t keep a secret for his life) was fucking scary. The mask alone was terrifying. Less scary but possibly just as impressive was his ability to consume a whole box of donut in one pass. He didn’t even smear his face paint (the skull mask, while ideal for intimidation and interrogation, lacked a mouth hole, and was therefore inherently flawed).

“You ready to go?” The Vagabond asked, standing as nonchalantly as someone wearing a skull mask and a sniper rifle over his shoulder possibly could.

“Uh, yeah.” Jeremy said, trying to look like someone who definitely was not trying to decide if he wanted to beg for his life or for an autograph. “But I thought I was just walking over?” The unspoken question being why Ryan was here. Besides, it wasn’t like the Vagabond was one of the ones who usually picked him up (except that one memorable occasion that had involved gratuitous fireworks and a collection of what the Vagabond had enthusiastically called his “stabbing knives”). It was usually Pattillo who swung by his apartment when they needed him, or sometimes Michael, when one of the main members picked him up.

“I’m acting overwatch.” Ryan explained. “There aren’t any good windows I can snipe through at the bar you’re going to, but there’s an apartment building pretty much next door- I’ll be there, and if your guy tries to take you to a more secure location to make the deal, I’ll be tailing you. We’ve also got a guy in the bar, but he’s actually in the middle of some undercover work right now, so don’t expect him to interfere unless your life’s in danger.”

 “Oh!” Jeremy couldn’t help but let the surprise leak into his voice. He hadn’t expected anyone to be working with him on this job.

The Vagabond was definitely side-eyeing him now. “What, you thought we’d send you in there without any backup?”

Jeremy made sure not to make eye contact now. “Just used to working alone.” He offered noncommittedly, shrugging.

The Vagabond was thankfully not one for words and let it drop.

 “Why didn’t Ramsey cover any of this?” Jeremey added as an afterthought.

The Vagabond let out a derisive but fond laugh. “Geoff didn’t mention it because he doesn’t like details. He doesn’t have the patience.”

“Do you think it’s likely that Alonzo will try to take us someplace else?”

“Ahhh, maybe. It’s unlikely though. If he was all that suspicious, he would have just had you come to a different location. If you were planning on ambushing here, you’d of had weeks to scope out the location and fine-tune a strategy.”

Jeremy nodded, but didn’t respond. He didn’t want to seem nervous, especially in front of the Vagabond. He just didn’t want to mess this up for them. Knowing someone had his back was a weight off his shoulders, though. It suddenly felt good to be working in a group- there was something to it.

“Yeah, I’m ready to go.” Jeremy reiterated. He finally stopped fiddling with the collar on his jacket, and turned towards the door to leave.

“Good luck!” The Vagabond offered cheerfully out of the blue. No matter how friendly, it was still pretty freaky. Jeremy wondered if Ryan did that on purpose. He glanced back; the Vagabond’s skull mask loomed creepily, hiding all expressions. Yeah- he definitely did that on purpose, weird motherfucker.

The walk over was fairly humid, but the temperature continued to steadily decline. Night in Los Santos could actually get fairly cool, so Jeremy didn’t feel any shame in donning a familiar purple jacket. It was more of a mental comfort than a physical one, anyway.

The bar was just as dingy and gross Jeremy’s second time visiting as it was the first time. the only good thing about the place was how the low lights made it easier to ignore the grime and dust on everything. Again, Alonzo was already there, same booth, waiting for him. Except this time, instead of looking perpetually distracted and purposefully bored, Alonzo’s gaze was razor-sharp, and honed in on Jeremy right away. He looked fidgety, and his fingertips were tapping loosely at the edge of the tabletop. He already had an empty glass in front of him, and was pretty far through the second. He was filled with some sort of nervous energy- excitement or fear, Jeremy couldn’t really tell. Maybe both.

As Jeremy walked over, he gave a purposefully nonchalant once-over to the rest of the bar. He didn’t see anyone who stood out, who could be working for the Fakes, but that probably just meant their guy was good at his job.

When Jeremy sat down at the booth, Alonzo started speaking almost immediately.

“So- heard you’ve been holding out on me.” He said cockily, as he wasn’t the one who had demanded that Jeremy meet him that night.

“I did the job you asked me to do.” Jeremy responded, a little offended. He didn’t want anyone to start implying that he was bad at his job.

“Yeah, well if that was the only thing you did, we wouldn’t be sitting here. So give it up- what the hell did you pick off that guy that’s so important?”

“You didn’t tell me you were sending me after a Fake.” Jeremy retorted, drawing it out a little, making the guy squirm. He deserved it, certainly, dragging Jeremy back to this shithole of a bar.

“Would that have made a difference?” Alonzo asked, reeking of bravado and sweat.

“Sure as fuck it would, I would of charged more.” Let him think this was about money, about greed. Let him think Jeremy could be easily bought. “But instead, I got all kinds of freaks looking for me- and I got this.”

Jeremy lifted one hand and wiggled it slightly. In his palm was a cell phone- a smart phone, not one of those crappy flip phones Alonzo used. He laid it flat on the table, in view but out of reach for Alonzo.

“Lifted it off that Luna guy you had me rob. Wasn’t too hard to convince him to give me the passcode once he realized I had a gun. This thing taught me all about those people you’re trying hard to piss off. Pretty interesting stuff you’re getting into.”

Alonzo was definitely sweating a little bit now. This was- this was actually easier than Jeremy had thought it would be. Kind of fun, actually.

“So what is this- are you threatening me, is this a threat? Are you saying you’d think about taking this to them? Nah, they probably want to kill you for roughing up their guy. You think you’re gonna be buddy with them, no, they’ll kill you for this.”

Alonzo was trying to take back control of the conversation, and Jeremy let him.

“No, I’m not going to involves the Fakes in this. I’m not suicidal, dude. I was just thinking- I got this, you want to cause some trouble for them- maybe we can work something out.”

Alonzo relaxed, he was more confident now, but he still looked greasy.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re taking them out, man. Money then? You’re looking for money?”

“Not exactly.” Jeremy baited the trap. “The thing is, the Fakes have been on top for a while, but no one’s taken them down because no one’s got the balls to do it. You take them down, you’re top dog, and I helped you get there? Now that’s a nice place to be.”

Alonzo looked a little confused, plans that took more than one step were probably too complicated for him, but there was a growing look of satisfaction that overclouded everything else.

“So what, you want a job? For the phone? Yeah, we can work with that. If this thing is what you say it is, we’ve got a deal.”

Alonzo gave his word, and Jeremy pretended to believe that it was worth a damn, and they shook on it. Jeremy handed over the cell phone.

“You wanna prove you’re worth our time, you’re gonna start working now.”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “What am I doing then, pal?”

Alonzo grinned but it did not make him look like he was any happier.

“You’re gonna help us take down the Fakes, Tim. You’re gonna be our spy.”

\---

Jeremy was laughing his _ass_ off. Los Santos was fun, in the may-be-adrenaline, may-be-a-heart-attack sort of way. Jeremy didn’t usually like working in groups, but the Fakes were seriously making a case for it.

It appeared that not only was Alonzo stupid and greedy, he was arrogant as hell. Sending someone to spy on the Fakes? It was the kind of cocky move that only the best could have pulled off, and Alonzo and the Vagos were far from the best.

That, more than anything else, assured Jeremy that the Fakes’ half-cocked plan would actually work. Or maybe their utter confidence was starting to wear off on him. This kind of thing- in some ways, it was everything he hand dreamed of, moving to Los Santos. The possible dangers- well, that was acceptable risk here. He didn’t start a life of crime to stay safe, no one did.

They had planted the information they wanted to feed to the Vagos on the cell phone, but Alonzo having Jeremy spy on the Fakes would change the plan a little bit. It meant they could screw with Alonzo and his buddies even more, get an idea of what kind of information they were looking for, and what they already had. It actually meant less danger for Jeremy now, because ‘spying’ on the Fakes was a much safer activity for him than anything else the Vagos could have made him do. Well, it was probably not intended to be safe in Alonzo’s mind. But instead of watching Mogar through a scope from the building next door, Jeremy was sitting next to Michael, both of them fucking cackling.

So far, spying on the Fakes had included jokingly tailing Jack for the fun of it (she had been grocery shopping and then made him carry all the bags upstairs), and occasionally taking blurry creep photos of Geoff around town (he had made sure to delete all the ones where Geoff was flipping him off before sending them to Alonzo). On one memorable occasion he had managed to push Gavin off the pier, but that was more of a personal accomplishment than a work-related activity.

Working with the Fakes- it was more than just a job, it felt like he had started a whole new life, separated from anything else he had ever done before. Working with a crew, the right crew, it finally felt like he could trust the people around him to have his back. Which was a crazy thought, something he never thought he’d ever feel comfortable saying. But the way the Fakes worked- it was different from everyone else, they actually cared about each other beyond the promise of the next paycheck. They were friends, they were almost like family. Not to get too sappy, but that’s how it felt.

On the other hand, though, it was all too easy to realize how temporary this could be. If the plan didn’t go well, if the Fakes decided they didn’t like working with him, it could all go away in an instant. And while Jeremy felt that they were a good match, felt like he fit in perfectly with them, it was more difficult to see if the others felt the same way. He had been a fan of the Fakes for years- it felt like he knew them, like he had been part of the group for years. But the others didn’t know him, didn’t even know he was a fan.

Even though Jeremy was very much aware that he was on a trial period, that didn’t mean the others were any less friendly or welcoming. They were assholes, of course, but they weren’t ‘threatening the lives of your friends’ assholes, at least not any more. They gave him shit, but it felt more like hazing than anything else. Albeit hazing by criminals and murderers.

The information planted on Luna’s phone was peppered with enough truth to make it seem believable. While the briefcase had documentation relating to aliases, escape plans, and various methods of fraud. Inconvenient and potentially dangerous, but nothing that could permanently damage the Fakes. On the cell phone were leads to safehouses, private information about some of the full-time members, things that could really fuck a crew up in the wrong hands. While it might have been possible for them to try and make the Fakes think they had a mole (although that would have never worked, thanks to Jeremy), instead the Vagos had decided to attack and take over one of the Fake’s ammo warehouses. It was on the smaller side, one of the Fake’s older warehouses.

But what made it special was the location- it was in Rancho, technically Vagos territory, if the Fakes actually payed attention to that kind of crap. It was on Roy Lowenstein Boulevard, the same street that housed the shit bar that Jeremy had met Alonzo at, only a couple of blocks down.

The Fakes, doing business right under their noses? It would be irresistible to the Vagos. Having the attack be in their territory would also make them overconfident, think they had the upper hand. The phone had a list of inventory (real), a schedule of deliveries (mostly fake), and a detailed plan of protections (very much fake). To not seem suspicious, the phone also included a few other warehouse locations, some real and some fake, but only ones that had much higher levels of protection, things that the Vagos could never dream of breaking into or taking over, even with the ridiculous amount of overconfidence they had already shown. The only viable option would be the one they were drawn to in the first place; the one in their territory.

And they had taken the bait. One of the places he had sent Jeremy to scope out was the warehouse in Rancho. Or rather, the dilapidated convenience store that was the front for the small warehouse. He had Jeremy look at the other locations as well, but seemed uninterested and unsurprised with the information Jeremy gave him. He never asked Jeremy to go back to those larger warehouses.

After a couple days spent watching the warehouse (the Fakes had made sure that trucks arrived each time they were scheduled to, according to the information the Vagos already had), Jeremy was assigned to tail the Fakes themselves; record their movements and see who they interacted with outside the crew.

Like the information on the phone, what Jeremy sent back to Alonzo was a mix of lies and truth, revealing just enough to keep Alonzo from suspecting him, but without putting any Fakes or employees in danger by doing so.

A few weeks of detailed but carefully vetted leaked information, and the Vagos were feeling confident enough to attack. Jeremy couldn’t tell if Alonzo was their leader, or if he was just a spokesman for the gang, but they seemed to follow his orders well enough, and accepted his assertion that the information gotten through Jeremy was legitimate.

Over time, Jeremy had developed a character that he donned when meeting with Alonzo. Tim was a lot like Jeremy, a fighter from the east coast who had moved through a combination of necessity and ambition. But instead of having close friends in Los Santos, Tim was isolated, desperate to grasp onto the tentative alliance of Alonzo and the Vagos. Instead of idolizing the Fakes, he resented them, jealous of what they had built, and eager to tear it down. A lot of what Jeremy thought about the Vagos, Tim said about the Fakes. They were arrogant and overconfident, they deserved to be taken down a couple of pegs, they deserved every hit that was coming their way.

It made Jeremy a little uncomfortable, wondering if he could have turned out this way if he had a harder time in Los Santos, if he had been a little more desperate, a little more bitter.

He would be… well, not a worse person, because he had done plenty in the name of keeping himself amused, but a less fortunate one, certainly. The Fakes had no illusions, being loyal to each other didn’t make them better people. But it did make them safer, make them happier. And that was worth quite a lot, in Jeremy’s book.

Alonzo had grown confident enough to organize a plan of attack. The schedules Jeremy had given them indicated an upcoming weak point- an evening when almost all the Fakes would either be out of town or dealing with other crews. Only a few members would be at the warehouse in Rancho, and none of them would be heavy hitters. It was a perfect time to strike, an opportunity to take something over for themselves, and indicate to the rest of Los Santos that the Fakes weren’t as untouchable as they appeared.

Jeremy was pretty fucking hyped to get this show on the road. Working with the Fakes was like a dream, but he was itching to actually get some work done. Part of it was restlessness, but he also wanted a chance to prove himself to the Fakes. He was eager to get a chance to work with them. His earlier hesitation about working in groups had not completely disappeared, but it was easy to ignore now. And yes, part of Jeremy wanted to impress them.

For the actual mission, he’d be working with Ryan. The Vagabond’s reputation far preceded him, and Jeremy was caught between being intimidated and excited. He’d definitely have to pull his weight here.

Operation: Don’t Let Them Know I’m a Fucking Nerd had been doing okay so far. He’d managed to stifle his desire to blurt out information he shouldn’t know when the others casually brought stuff up (like what year Jack had started competitively racing, and how many kills the Los Santos Police Department had attributed to the Vagabond). It would be suspicious and definitely creepy if he started knowing everything about their professional careers, so he held his tongue.

The weak point in his plan was that Matt and Trevor _must_ know something is up by now. He had never quit working at the pizza place for a job before, and it hadn’t taken them long to realize that he wasn’t working alone this time. the regular hours, the lack of worry about money, the lack of injuries lately, it all pointed towards Jeremy working for someone, probably a group, and that they were focused on a big job.

Matt had actually approached Jeremy, still keeping a casual air about it, and tried to suss out if Jeremy had gotten in over his head, if he was working for someone against his will. And if it was anyone but the Fakes, Jeremy might have told Matt what happened, but he couldn’t. he’d gotten blackmailed into a job he would have begged for. He assured Matt that everything was fine, and while his roommate still looked suspicious as hell, he’d dropped the subject.

Trevor was a bit more difficult, as usual. Instead of confronting the issue directly, he’d been dropping hints that he knew exactly who had hired Jeremy. It was unlikely that he had solid proof, but any time Trevor started talking about the bigger crews in Los Santos, Jeremy started sweating bullets. His roommates could _not_ find out. And if God forbid, they found out (or already knew), they could not be allowed to be anywhere near the Fakes.

Jeremy was no longer seriously afraid he’d get kicked out for being a fan, but now that he’d gotten to know them, Jeremy was absolutely sure of they found out, they’d _never_ let it go. It was not allowed to happen. He absolutely would not let it.

And having to keep secrets from basically everyone he interacted with (albeit secrets of different severity) was draining Jeremy. It was exhausting. So he was well within his right to fist pump when Geoff demanded a team meeting one morning. Even if Michael gave him a heavily judgmental look for being excited at the idea of a meeting.

It was suitably dramatic, Kingpin Ramsey sitting at the head of a conference table with his back to a wall-to-wall window overlooking Los Santos. His arms were crossed menacingly, the lighting was dramatic, and it was all being ruined because sitting next to him was the big scary Vagabond stuffing his face with a donut. And from the look of the box on the table, it was not his first one. Across the table, Gavin was showing Jack a video on his phone, still wearing his fucking sunglasses on inside. Absolutely no one was giving Geoff the attention he so richly desired.

Jeremy loved these idiots.

“Alright, listen up, assholes.” Geoff began, now that they were all gathered. “None of you better fuck any of this up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again the GTA 5 wiki was a great help. The cheapest small warehouse is the convenience store lockup in Rancho, and is featured in the video Let's Play: GTA 5- CEO. Also INCREDIBLY useful was this [map](http://grandtheftdata.com/landmarks/#0,0,2,satellite) that compares Los Santos buildings and landmarks to their real-life counterparts. I've been using it as a way to see where different locations are in relation to each other.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me halfway through writing this chapter that the warehouse I originally mentioned was entirely too small to have any kind of fight in. So lets go with a suspension of belief that the warehouse is bigger than what is shown in the game. (Yes, I'm aware that this is a very small detail that probably only matters to me.)

It had been difficult to sleep the night before, but Jeremy only hoped Trevor and Matt didn’t notice how restless he had been. He couldn’t help it, he was absolutely terrified of getting something wrong and ruining the entire operation. The past month had been almost like one long job interview, and it was culminating tonight. If he screwed this up, there was no way that the Fakes would be willing to offer him a permanent job. They might also make good on some of those unspecified threats towards his roommates, a particular possibility that Jeremy was refusing to think too much about.

The plan itself wasn’t too complicated; the Vagos, confident that they would be able to outnumber the protection detail on the warehouse, would surround the building and block off the exits. They’d slaughter everyone inside, take the inventory for themselves, and burn down the warehouse. The Vagos were under the impression that almost all of the Fakes were currently out of town, but that Gavino would be at the warehouse this night to check inventory. The Fakes would be down a warehouse, a main member, and a significant amount of firearm inventory. Distressed, they wouldn’t be able to enact revenge immediately, and in the mean time the Vagos would have access to the stolen firearms, and use them to continue to attack Fake holdings.

In reality, no one was out of town, Gavin would not be in the warehouse by himself defenseless, and the Vagos were luring themselves into a trap. The Fakes would instead surround the Vagos, and trap them in the small warehouse. Contained and double-crossed, the Vagos would be easy pickings, and the Fakes could take their revenge.

That was the plan, at least, assuming nothing went wrong.

In reality, it started going wrong almost immediately, which if it had not been so terrifying, was honestly impressive.

The day started off like this- Alonzo sent Jeremy a message that morning, demanding a meeting that afternoon. He refused to explain why, only saying that it was very important that they meet in person. It was not too surprising that Alonzo wanted to meet again before the attack; surely the Vagos were feeling just as nervous as Jeremy himself was, and any extra last-minute information they could extract from him could give them an extra edge in the attack tonight. However Jeremy was not supposed to know that the attack would happen that night, or even where they would be attacking, so he gave a token objection to the last minute meeting, and then conceded.

So not long after noon, Jeremy headed over to the seedy bar that was now becoming a familiar sight. Just on the off chance that he was being watched, Jeremy made sure to not give the nearby warehouse any extra attention, though he was dying to take a glance. Alonzo was waiting for him at the bar already.

But he wasn’t nervous; instead Alonzo was leaned back, chin tilted up, surveying the bar lazily. He barely acknowledged Jeremy, and took his time in saying anything. Eventually Jeremy decided to speak up.

“Yeah? Why’d you make me rush over here?” He asked, trying to sound more annoyed than nervous, more bored than aggressive.

Alonzo’s eyes slid over to Jeremy, like he was sizing him up. Jeremy halfheartedly fought the urge to grimace. After a few seconds, Alonzo apparently made a decision, and nodded.

“Have you seen any of them lately? What are they doing?”

Jeremy shrugged. “I haven’t seen most of them in the past couple of days. They’re either hiding out or they’re out of town right now.”

Alonzo nodded again, like he expected that, which if he had read the information Jeremy had passed on through the cell phone, he had.

“We’re attacking one of their bases. Tonight.” He said abruptly. He was watching Jeremy closely for a reaction.

“Tonight?” Jeremy asked, disbelief filtering through his voice. Why the hell was Alonzo telling him that?

“Oh yeah.” Alonzo said, smugness setting in at being able to surprise Jeremy with something he didn’t know. “And you’re coming with us.”

Jeremy just stared at him for a minute. “I can’t do that.” He said without even thinking. He couldn’t be part of the Vagos attack! He was supposed to be on the Fakes’ side. Not only would the Fakes accuse him of trying to double-cross them if he never showed up to help them, his cover would be blown as soon as the Vagos realized their attack wasn’t going to be as easy as they thought. Jeremy soon realized his mistake, however.

“You _can’t_?” Alonzo’s voice was getting louder with anger. “Why not?”

Jeremy reared back a little, recognizing danger. “I’m not a fucking fighter!” Jeremy said quickly, panicking slightly. “I can barely shoot a gun, I can’t attack shit!”

“Oh no, you’re definitely coming with us.” Though he had calmed slightly, Alonzo’s voice was no less determined. “You want to prove to us that you deserve to work for the Vagos? You’re gonna help us take down the Fakes.”

There was nothing that Jeremy could do. If he refused, Alonzo would definitely know something was up, and might call off the attack, or force Jeremy to participate anyway. But if he went along, he’d end up dead anyway, either by one of the Fakes or by a member of the Vagos.

Perhaps aware that Jeremy was hesitating, Alonzo kept talking. “And if you’re still thinking that you’ll back outta this, here’s option two.”

There was a soft thud as Alonzo lifted one hand from under the table and into view. He was holding a handgun, and rested it on the table. It was mostly hidden from view of the rest of the bar, but it was clear Alonzo wasn’t worried about being seen. His finger wasn’t on the trigger, but he had a firm grip on the gun that told Jeremy he’d be dead long before he could draw his own weapon. Jeremy was well and truly fucked.

“I own one fucking gun, man, and I don’t even have it with me.” He said, making a show of slumping down and giving up. “Why the hell are you telling me this at the last minute? And where are we even attacking?”

“We’ll get you kitted up.” Alonzo said coolly, ignoring Jeremy’s first question. “And we’re attacking one of their warehouses, you’ll find out which one later. For now, you’re coming with me.” And he stood up, gesturing for Jeremy to follow him.

He followed Alonzo around the back of the bar. He wondered if what happened in the bar was all for show, and now he was just gonna get shot. Well, bleeding out behind a bar wasn’t the most glamorous death in Los Santos, but it wasn’t too unexpected an ending.

“Give me your phone.” Alonzo demanded.

“What?” Jeremy asked, confused.

“Give me your cell phone.” Alonzo said again, louder this time.

Jeremy pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and handed it to Alonzo. He had never contacted any of the Fakes on that phone, so it was relatively safe to hand over. He did have Trevor and Matt’s numbers in there, but hopefully Alonzo wouldn’t look too closely into people who weren’t involved in the Fakes at all.

But instead of looking through Jeremy’s contacts, Alonzo dropped the phone on the ground, and shot it twice.

In the back of his mind, this confirmed Jeremy’s belief that Alonzo was not concerned with anyone nearby calling the cops on him, but mostly Jeremy was freaking out.

While the Fakes had never contacted him on that phone, they had still used it to track him on more than one occasion.

(Once when he had failed to show up for a meeting and they wanted to make sure he hadn’t double crossed them, and once when they had sent him out for pizza and they wanted to make sure he went to the right place).

It looked like Alonzo had destroyed the phone completely, what if they tried to track him and found his phone was destroyed, and in Vagos territory at that?

What if they thought Jeremy had gotten cold feet and had tried to run away from the fight?

“You got any other electronics?” Alonzo asked, turning the gun to point back at Jeremy.

Jeremy quickly shook his head no. It was true- the phone he used to contact the Fakes was still at home, he hadn’t wanted to bring anything incriminating to a meeting.

Alonzo quickly checked him for a wire, like Jeremy was some kind of fucking _amateur_ , and seemed satisfied when he didn’t find anything. He put the gun away, and steered Jeremy back out in front of the bar. But instead of going back inside, Alonzo lead Jeremy to a car that was idling by the sidewalk. He pushed Jeremy into the backseat before sitting up front next to the driver. It was someone Jeremy didn’t recognize- though probably some member of the Vagos, because he didn’t say anything at the sudden appearance of two passengers, and started driving.

They quickly got onto the freeway, and headed pretty far north. Jeremy wasn’t as familiar with the area this far away from Los Santos. He had little reason to leave the city very often, so despite the three years he’d lived in San Andreas, he wasn’t too familiar with the area they were now driving in.

The car pulled off the freeway to enter what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. They drove past more than a few farms before finally getting to what probably amounted to a main street in the sorry excuse for a town. It was industrial but run-down at the same time. It looked like the kind of place people wanted to escape from, a sentiment Jeremy was feeling rather hard at that moment.

The car stopped in front of a one-level home, with a broken fence in front and a dirty jeep parked in the driveway. The driver got out after parking in front of the house, and Alonzo gestured for Jeremy to follow suit. He had taken out the gun again after the long car ride, but was holding it loosely, not bothering to point it at Jeremy anymore. Either Alonzo believed that he wasn’t a flight risk, or he was confident in his aim enough to catch a runaway in between the shoulder blades. Jeremy didn’t like his chances, and followed the other two men into the building.

It was just as run-down inside, a fact that was distracted from but not helped by the fact that it was filled to the brim with Vagos members. There was a connected living room and kitchen, with a small table and a few chairs pushed up against the wall. But instead of joining the other men, Alonzo pushed Jeremy into the only other room in the house, a tiny bedroom. Alonzo nudged Jeremy into the room with the muzzle of the gun.

“Stay here for a minute while I catch up the guys here. You’re gonna be doing some good work with us, you might as well meet the crew.”

Alonzo slammed the door closed. After half a second of deliberation, Jeremy pressed his ear against the door, to try and hear anything of the conversation going on in the rest of the house. But despite the almost certainly shoddy walls, he couldn’t make out words. Yeah, the Vagos were definitely talking about him, and they were apparently capable of being discreate enough to not let him overhear anything. Color him surprised.

Plan foiled, Jeremy looked around the messy bedroom for something else to distract him. It looked more than just run-down, this place looked lived in. There was stuff all over the tables, it smelled vaguely of body odor, and there was even a small TV. There was a framed poster over the tv reading “Los Santos Owns You”. Jeremy tried very hard to pretend that he didn’t identify heavily with that statement. He may enjoy the hell out of his new job most of the time, but there was no doubt that the Fakes owned his ass, and they were free to drop it any time they decided he wasn’t useful anymore.

The door banged open again. In the time Jeremy had taken to explore the room, the Vagos had come to a decision. Jeremy really hoped they hadn’t decided on death. That would be a real bummer.

“This is Tim.” Alonzo announced, slinging one arm around Jeremy as they both pretended the contact was more jovial than it was threatening.

Jeremy offered up a quick “Hey”, and a couple of the Vagos nodded at him. No one offered their name in response, but someone passed a beer over, and Jeremy took that as a pretty warm welcome. Conversation quickly went back to what it had been before their arrival, and Jeremy was content to fade into the background a little bit.

Normally he would never accept a drink from a stranger, especially one who had pretty good motive to want him dead if they so choose, but the tab hadn’t been pulled yet, and it seemed unwise to accept the offering. Still, he managed to pour a significant amount into a tall plant that had clearly been fed worse things than beer in its sad life, managing to fake his way through the second beer as well.

But despite the fact that he apparently passed some sort of test, Jeremy was only getting more nervous. Surely at this point the Fakes would realize that something was wrong. Would they think that Jeremy had jumped ship? would they shoot him when he shows up alongside the Vagos?

More cars pulled up and more Vagos entered the building. This must be some sort of hideout or safehouse. Jeremy made note to mention it to the Fakes. That it, assuming he survived past tonight.

Before they left, one asshole in a white tank top pulled Jeremy out back behind the house and handed him a gun. It was a pretty heavy-duty pistol, probably more expensive than the one he’s got at home, but nowhere near the quality of firearm that he had seen the Fakes sporting. Jeremy nodded his thanks, wondering internally where the stash of weapons was hidden, cursing himself for not paying attention. Just because this was not how the plan had meant to go did not mean he needed to abandon it completely. This was just an extra opportunity to spy. A high-stakes, completely unwanted opportunity, yes, but still an opportunity.

The four of them, driver, Alonzo, white tank top and Jeremy left in the same car, and they, plus a couple other vehicles, headed down on the freeway back to Los Santos. Jeremy could tell that his fingers were tapping nervously against his thigh, but he could not stop them. This was a real make-or-break kind of situation- one way or the other, Jeremy was never going back to his old shitty jobs anymore. So it would either be death or his dream job of working for the Fakes forever. No biggie. The good thing however- both options were probably better than heading back to being a pizza boy.

\---

It was getting dark by the time they got back into Los Santos. At first Jeremy thought they were heading right back to the bar, but instead the cars pulled up next door, to an apartment building. The driver led them up half a flight of stairs, and unlocked one of the apartments. It was sparse inside, a stark difference from the house up north. In fact, Jeremy was pretty sure no one lived here. There was barely even any furniture, and what was there had a fine layer of dust on top. Alonzo sent Estaban (white tank top guy) back outside to meet back up with the Vagos who had been in the other cars.

Alonzo pulled Jeremy aside. “Listen pal, you’re not gonna screw this up for me. You mess up, it’s on me. That clear?”

Jeremy nodded.

“Good, good.” Alonzo continued. As he spoke, his voice got more and more excited. “So here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna take down those fucking Fakes. There’s a place down the street, and tonight their golden boy, Gavino, is gonna be there. Everyone knows he’s useless without the others, so we’re gonna take him down quick. They’ll fall apart without him, and that’s how we’ll get them.”

Alonzo’s eyes were alight, his fingertips were twitching slightly, like he couldn’t hold himself still, and there was a manic energy about him. It hit Jeremy again how much the Vagos hated the Fakes. This was their grand revenge, what they had been building up to, probably ever since Ryan had taken down Edgar Carlos.

“Let’s get those fuckers.” Jeremy offered lamely, though apparently convincingly.

Alonzo laughed sharply, and nodded vigorously. He clapped Jeremy on the back, once, and then turned to the other man in the room, the one who had driven the car.

“Luis, we’re ready, as soon as everyone’s here.” Alonzo told him.

The other man, apparently named Luis, nodded, and sent a quick text to someone. Presumably the other Vagos, because not even a minute later, the whole crowd of Vagos entered the apartment.

Jeremy realized, as they were all standing together, for a crew that had once been international, there weren’t actually that many people here. Now wasn’t a great time to do a headcount, but there were probably less than twenty men here, including Alonzo and himself. The Vagos had really been gutted. What Ryan had done to them- it had irreversibly damaged the gang. No wonder they were so desperate for revenge- they really didn’t have anything else left they _could_ do.

If Jeremy were a better person, maybe he would have felt bad for them, felt bad for betraying them. But if Jeremy were a better person he never would have gotten involved in the first place, would never be in Los Santos in the first place.

Instead, Jeremy just felt anticipation.

Alonzo was talking. He didn’t seem to be the one in charge, but there also didn’t seem to be a clear leader here. Instead, they were all just interrupting each other when they wanted to talk. Jeremy had trouble focusing on specific words, he was too hyped up to listen to their bullshit about how they were going to take down the Fakes.

It was a lost cause, no one could even touch the Fakes, they ruled this city. Anyone who thought different was just fooling themselves, pumped up on their own bravado, thinking they were worth anything to Los Santos.

A last cheer rand through the apartment room. They were apparently done shouting their own eulogies, ready to head on to the attack.

They headed out from the building, and leaving, Jeremy realized this apartment building had been where Ryan had been when Jeremy met with Alonzo to hand over the cell phone.

The Fakes had been here, maybe they were watching now.

Jeremy felt a flash of hope shoot through him. Maybe the Fakes would know what had happened, would know that Jeremy had no choice in joining the Vagos attack party. If they realized what had happened, they would have the time and forewarning to revise their plan. And more importantly, they wouldn’t think that Jeremy had betrayed them at the eleventh hour.

 The warehouse was so close, it almost felt silly to be piling back into the cars, but that’s where Alonzo led him, pushing Jeremy into the backseat and following him in. In absolutely no time, they were pulling in front of the warehouse fronting as a shut down convenience store.

They didn’t even bother trying to be subtle. There weren’t any guards outside, so a few Vagos members began to break into the front door, quickly smashing the glass, and then started working on tearing down the metal grate behind it. Alonzo, Jeremy, and the rest of the Vagos went around the side of the building to the door that led directly into the storage area. There was a sign on it warning about security cameras. It didn’t look any different from any other back alley in Los Santos. No wonder the Vagos had been hyped up into a fury. The Fakes had been right under their noses, maybe for years, and they hadn’t suspected a thing.

From out front, Jeremy hear a few gunshots. He glanced over at the Vagos men standing next to him, but no one looked surprised, so Jeremy assumed everything was going according to plan.

Alonzo motioned to one of the other guys, and a man walked forward holding a shotgun. Standing a fair distance back, he shot at the door jamb right next to the lock. It wasn’t subtle, and it caused a fair amount of shrapnel splinters, but when the man moved forward and slammed the butt of the gun into the door, it gave way. The men moved forward, and Jeremy took out his own gun as they walked into the building. He would have liked to be further back in the group, but at least he wasn’t directly at the front.

It was dark inside, but the light from outside was more than enough to illuminate pretty far into the room. There were rows of unmarked crates on the shelving to their left, and a couple of closed doors further up. Jeremy didn’t see anyone.

“Where are you hiding, Gavino?” One of the Vagos called out as they advanced. There was a sound from behind one of the far crates, and a shot ran out in the room. Jeremy genuinely couldn’t tell who had shot, they were all so packed in the doorway.

“Who are you? What the bloody hell are you doing?” A muffled voice squawked. It was definitely Gavin’s voice.  A couple shots returned, and one of the Vagos fell down. Jeremy couldn’t tell if he was dead. There were more gunshots from outside, and someone was yelling. A few of the Vagos were looking around nervously, but they were still moving forward, spreading out and looking around the warehouse.

Alonzo shot a few times in the direction of the voice, near the back of the warehouse.

To Jeremy’s horror, he was pushed to the front of the group right behind Alonzo. He pointed his gun in the general direction of the back of the warehouse, and prayed that no one would notice him not shooting during the fight that was sure to begin any moment. Apparently no one was interested in being his guardian angel, because Alonzo quickly noticed him and grabbed his arm.

“Look!” Alonzo shouted, sounding entirely happier than the situation warranted. “We’ve got our own little spy, Fake! How will Ramsey react when we send him the head of his little golden boy?”

“I mean, fuck that.” A voice replied. It was decidedly not Gavin.

Mogar stepped out of the shadows.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” One of the Vagos behind Jeremy shouted in a panic as another shot at Michael, who quickly ducked back in cover.

More of the Vagos shot at him, but apparently he was hiding behind something bullet proof, because there was no shout of pain.

“What the fuck is this about?” Alonzo demanded of Jeremy. He didn’t take his eyes off of Michael’s hiding spot, but he looked furious, even more manic than before.

“I don’t fucking know!” Jeremy shouted in a panic.

A few of the Vagos turned their guns towards Jeremy. They weren’t certain enough to start shooting him, but it was probably only a matter of time. They were looking scared, and probably starting to realize this attack was going nothing like how they had planned.

Alonzo looked like he was going to say something else, but a noise distracted him.

Something came skidding along the floor towards them, and the men, including Jeremy, scattered.

But after a couple seconds went by and the object didn’t explode, they took a second look. It wasn’t a grenade, though it was about the right size. It let out a buzz and then let out a high-pitched wheezing laugh. It was Gavin, and the device on the ground was a walkie-talkie. Their information had been wrong, Gavin had never been here. And that meant this was an-

“Ambush!” The Vagos next to Jeremy screamed. There were gunshots from behind them as Ramsey himself appeared. A few more men fell, as others pushed past in their rush to leave the warehouse.

Things were still following the plan.

Jeremy knew Ryan would be outside, where he himself should have been, picking off the runners, had everything gone according to plan. Instead he was stuck inside the warehouse with a large group of angry terrified men who were now very aware of who was to blame for their current situation.

They turned on him. He tried to hide behind one of the crates and shoot the Vagos stuck in the bottleneck of the doorway, but got grazed before he even moved a couple of feet. Another two bullets grazed by as he ducked behind cover. There was nothing bullet proof in front of _him_ , but Jeremy figured the other Fakes were keeping the Vagos busy enough that they didn’t have time to worry about the traitor.

He checked on the graze, but it was on his arm and was only bleeding sluggishly, so Jeremy figured it wasn’t too bad. It hurt like hell, but that wasn’t the worst sign either- it meant he hadn’t gone into shock.

Jeremy took a quick glance back at the fight. There weren’t many men left standing in the warehouse. Some must have escaped out the door, but there were also a fair few lying presumably dead on the floor. Grasping his gun more firmly, Jeremy took a shot at one of the remaining men, but missed. When a head turned his way, Jeremy ducked back behind his crate. Maybe it was better to leave things to the people who were wearing body armor.

But someone had noticed Jeremy’s hiding spot, and a couple of bullets sprayed through the crate.

One hit him in the shoulder, and Jeremy cried out. Son of a bitch, it was the same arm that had been grazed just a minute ago. He dropped to the ground, and hoped that whoever had shot him would think he was dead. But footsteps quickly rounded the corner, and fucking Alonzo appeared in Jeremy’s line of sight.

“You dirty rat!” He screamed, pointing his gun at Jeremy’s head. Alonzo’s hand was shaking, and there was spit spraying from his mouth. He looked completely deranged. “You piece of shit betrayer, you absolute cu-”

A gunshot interrupted him.

“I don’t have time for that bullshit.” Geoff said, gun still pointed towards where Alonzo had been standing. He looked almost bored.

Now was absolutely not the time for Jeremy to remember how badass Geoff fucking Ramsey was. Now was absolutely not the time to fanboy over the Fakes.

Jeremy’s mind had other ideas. _Shit, that was so fucking cool._

“Fucking die, bitch!” Michael cackled, walking over. “Wait, shit, Jeremy, you alright?’ He asked, hurrying over when he realized Jeremy was still laying on the ground.

“Yeah.” Jeremy grunted, putting pressure on the bullet wound and trying to stand up. He could feel the exit wound on the other side of his shoulder, which was, firstly, gross, but secondly, a good sign. It meant that the bullet wasn’t still in him.

But he was still shot, and Jeremy stumbled as he tried to stand, and ended up falling back and landing hard on his ass on the concrete floor. Jeremy put his hand, not the one covering the bullet wound, on the ground next to him to balance himself, but got distracted by the shiny wet stain slowly growing on the ground around him.

Oh gross, he’d landed in his own blood pool.

That was honestly just embarrassing.

Jeremy was feeling kinda woozy, but he was definitely still conscious as Michael brought him a towel from the convenience store out front to press against the wound. Geoff went outside to check on the others and  warn them that Jeremy was hurt.

Thy sat there for a minute before Geoff called back to tell Michael it was all clear and they could leave. Michael put away the gun that Jeremy hadn’t realized he was still holding. Maybe he was a bit more out of it that he had realized at first.

Michael helped Jeremy to his feet. “Come on, up. Jack’s gonna fix your arm when we get back home.” He pulled Jeremy up (by the arm that wasn’t injured, thankfully), and half-carried him out of the warehouse. They got to a car out front, and Michael sat Jeremy down in the backseat before sliding in next to him. Jack was in the front seat, and soon started driving.

“This is the best day ever.” Jeremy mumbled to himself. He didn’t actually mean to say that out loud but it was apparently audible if the incredulous look Michael was giving him was any indication. But he couldn’t help it. He’d helped the Fakes defeat a rival crew, he’d seen them up close in action, and now he was being brought back to the penthouse to be treated. They weren’t dumping him now that the job was done.

Hopefully they’d just assume he was delirious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The place Alonzo bring Jeremy is a player purchasable location in Grapeseed, San Andreas. According to the GTA 5 wiki, the Vagos were the previous owners of the McKenzie Field Hanger in Grapeseed (not to be confused with Sandy Shores Airfield). McKenzie Field Airstrip can be seen in the begining of the LetsPlay Ragdoll Runway. There is an apartment building next to the Hi-Men bar in GTA 5, and Luis Francesco and Estaban Jimenez are suspected and confirmed (respectively) members of the Vagos, according to the GTA 5 wiki.


	5. Chapter 5

Jeremy woke up on the couch.

This wasn’t the first time he’d done that- sometimes after having a bit too much to drink, Jeremy found himself waking up in odd places. Drunk Jeremy preferred to fall asleep in the bathtub, but sometimes if one of his roommates had been there when he had gotten home, Jeremy would end up on the couch. It was easier to leave him there than drag Jeremy to his bedroom (which Trevor would then borrow instead because the couch was technically Trevor’s bed). He would wake up half under a blanket, which was a noble attempt to keep Jeremy alive, and Sober Jeremy appreciated it a fair bit more than Drunk Jeremy did.

The issue also wasn’t that he didn’t remember how he got there, either, because it was not unusual for Jeremy to black out after a night of heavy drinking. Los Santos was hardly a city you would feel safe walking around drunk, though, so heavy drinking usually occurred in the apartment, facing off drink for drink with his roommates.

No, the issue was that this was not his couch. For one, it was entirely too comfortable. The couch at his apartment was worn and had lost a significant amount of its cushioning long before Jeremy had even moved in. This couch was much nicer feeling, and lacked the faint smell the one at home had recently picked up.

In fact, Jeremy was pretty sure this couch was more comfortable than his mattress at home. It was probably both cleaner and newer than his mattress at home, in addition to being more comfortable, now that he thought about it.

So this wasn’t his couch, and by extension, wasn’t his living room, and wasn’t his apartment.

It had taken a minute, but the worry was starting to ramp up now as Jeremy realized he had no idea where he was.

This was solved by the simple solution of opening his eyes. While this clearly wasn’t his apartment, Jeremy did recognize the room around him.

Each piece of furniture clearly cost more than Jeremy’s rent for the year, natural light was spilling in from a massive window overlooking Los Santos, and there was a tv longer than Jeremy was tall affixed to the wall across from him. This was the Fake’s apartment.

Jeremy relaxed a little bit. However, even realizing where he was did nothing to help him regain the memory of how he had gotten here. He tried to think back to the last thing he remembered.

_He’d been spending a lot of time around the Fakes… They were getting ready for the ambush… It was happening… soon? No, it had already happened…_

_It had already happened; the ambush had already happened._

It filtered back slowly, and in chunks. Getting strong-armed into following Alonzo, the Vagos meeting up north, the drive back down to Los Santos, the fight in the warehouse.

Something had happened during the fight. Had he gotten injured? _Had they won?_

Jeremy flinched at the panicked thought, and then again as his movement triggered a pain in his arm, and _fuck_ that really hurt.

Okay, so he’d gotten shot. Jeremy had no idea how he’d managed to forget about that, but now that he had remembered, he couldn’t think about anything else. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten shot before, but it was definitely the worst. He’d never _passed out_ because of a gun shot before.

Either Jeremy had lost enough blood that he’d managed to pass out in the car, or he’d gotten a sneaky concussion when he’d fallen after getting shot. Neither option was particularly pleasant to think about. But hey, plus side- here he was laying on the Fake’s couch, and not in some kind of prison dungeon, which definitely meant that they weren’t too pissed about the last-minute changes to the plan. It might even mean that they weren’t planning on dumping his ass now that the job was done.

Also, where the fuck were they?

There was no one else in the room, but it did appear to be the middle of the day, so Jeremy listened carefully for footsteps, or any other signs that there was someone else around in the penthouse apartment.

And now that he was actually paying attention, it sounded like there was someone nearby. There was a faint shuffling coming from the kitchen.

Moving much more carefully now, Jeremy sat up slowly, and tested his range of motion- not too bad, considering. After making sure he wasn’t seriously injured, Jeremy got to his feet. While his arm still hurt, and he had a fairly significant headache, Jeremy was grateful that he hadn’t injured a leg. He’d broken one of those before, and he never wanted to repeat the experience.

He shuffled over to the doorway of the kitchen, where there was someone standing behind the counter, cooking something on the stove.  It was Ryan, and he looked up when Jeremy paused in the doorway.

“Hey buddy.” Ryan said cheerfully. “Hope I didn’t wake you up.”

Jeremy was briefly concerned that he had stepped into some kind of alternate reality. Without the skull mask and the leather Vagabond jacket, Ryan looked shockingly domestic. It was a testament to how much the Fakes had brought Jeremy into the fold that he was allowed to be here, allowed to see them relaxed and at home. It was nice, not just to be accepted by a crew he had admired so much, but that they’d really made him feel like one of them. You know, in an asshole, tough love kind of way.

“Nah, you’re fine. Looks like it’s almost afternoon by now anyways. How long have I been out?” Jeremy asked, trying to play it cool.

Ryan glanced at the clock on the microwave before answering. “Maybe ten hours?”

“Yikes. So, uh, how did I get here?” And there went the attempt. Subtlety was not his biggest asset.

“You don’t remember?” Ryan asked, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t sound super concerned, but you could never really tell with him.

“Kind of.” Jeremy shrugged. Bits and pieces had been returning to him, but even those small moments were a blur. 

“Could be the painkillers.” A new voice suggested.

It was Jack- and despite the hour, she was still wearing pajamas and her hair was sticking up in odd directions. She also happened to be wearing bunny slippers.

The thought about an alternate reality occurred to Jeremy again. Perhaps this was just some kind of out-of-body experience. Or a hallucination.

Noticing Jeremy’s odd look, Jack defended herself. “We’ve been taking shifts, and mine was in the middle of the night.”

“Shifts?” Jeremy asked.

“Keeping an eye on your dumb ass.” Jack shot back even as she fumbled around the kitchen to grab a mug and turn on the coffee machine. “Ryan’s on Dooley Duty right now.”

“She’s right, it’s probably the painkillers.” Ryan contributed. “We’ve got a crew doc, but we don’t call him for the major stuff, and you weren’t too bad off, so Jack stitched you up when we got back home.”

“You did? Thank you Jack. I really appreciate that.” Jeremy said earnestly.

Jack waved off his thanks. “It was just some stitches. Just remember it the next time Gavin asks you who your favorite is.”

Jeremy offered her a double thumbs up, which she quickly returned, delightedly.

“So where’s everyone else?”

“Well, Geoff’s meeting with some of B-team today.” Jack started.

Jeremy nodded- he hadn’t actually met any of the members of B-team, but he’d heard of them. They were a small crew that mostly acted on behalf of the Fakes. They did a lot of the behind-the-scenes stuff, and kept lower profiles than the main members of the Fakes. They often took care of jobs that required a level of anonymity that someone like Geoff or Gavin would never have.

“What about Michael and Gavin?” Jeremy asked Jack.

She shrugged, and looked towards Ryan, who answered the question instead.

“They were up a few hours ago, I think they went out for a drive. They’ll be back soon to take you over to your apartment to grab some stuff.”

“Wait, what?” Jeremy asked, vaguely alarmed.

“You’re gonna be staying here for a few days, both to keep an eye on the stitches, and to make sure if there are any Vagos stragglers they won’t find you.” Jack replied. “Don’t think you want anyone seeing you in town and following you back to your apartment. You’ll be safer here. A lot of people know where we are, but the building is too well protected for an attack. We don’t have an extra bed for you, but the couch is pretty comfortable.”

“Oh, okay.” Jeremy replied. But then thinking about what Ryan had said, he spoke up again. “Wait, Michael and Gavin can’t come to my apartment.”

“Why not?”

“I have a roommate. Uh, two roommates actually.” He amended his statement. He wasn’t used to actually admitting to Trevor living with him and Matt. As far as the landlord knew, Trevor was just someone who came over to play video games often.

“Don’t worry,” Jack replied. “Gavin did a pretty thorough background check on both of them when we started working with you. They’re not involved.”

“No,” Jeremy argued, “I meant that they’ll recognize both Michael and Gavin, they’ll know I’ve been working with you.”

Ryan shrugged nonchalantly. “They’ll find out eventually. We don’t exactly do subtle around here.”

That was… a great point actually. All of the Fakes operated with over-the-top personalities. They were flashy and outlandish. If his roommates hadn’t caught on by now, they would soon.

Besides,” Jack offered, “We’ve looked into some of their previous work, and they’ve proven themselves to be reasonably discrete.”

Jeremy was faintly concerned at how apparently in-depth their search on Matt and Trevor had been, but he couldn’t think of another reason why Michael and Gavin couldn’t meet them, so he shut up. Hopefully they could just grab his stuff and go, and they wouldn’t need to interact at all.

God knows how difficult they’d be if they realized that he was working with the Fakes. They’d be insufferable. And worse, they might tell Gavin and Michael how much of a huge nerd Jeremy had been about the Fakes.

A clink interrupted his thoughts.

While Jeremy had been thinking, Ryan had finished cooking, and had set out three plates of eggs, bacon and toast. With a quick thank you, Jeremy dug right in. He’d barely eaten yesterday, and it must be around noon now.

As Jeremy ate, he contemplated the reality in which the Vagabond had cooked him brunch. And it was fucking tasty. Damn. If you told last year Jeremy where this year Jeremy would be, last year Jeremy would have laughed in your face. And he might have punched you in the gut. Last year Jeremy had been especially fighty.

He was washing the dishes when Gavin and Michael burst into the penthouse. They were arguing loudly about something as they walked through the front door, but quieted down when Jack sent them an irritated look.

“Hi Jeremy. Good to see you up. You ready to go?” Michael asked.

“Yep.” Jeremy nodded, drying his hands. He grabbed his shoes on the way to the door, and slipped on his jacket. “Good to go.”

Hopefully they could just get this over with as quickly as possible. Maybe Matt and Trevor wouldn’t even be there, if Jeremy was lucky. Who was he kidding? He was never lucky. This was gonna fucking suck.

They didn’t linger in the penthouse, and they took one of the more nondescript cars. Still expensive as hell, but not quite as ostentatious as Michael’s chrome Adder.

Jeremy had been planning on going for a full-blown but completely silent panic for the car ride, but his thought spiral was almost immediately interrupted by Gavin’s dumb stupid voice.

“Sorry we left you on the couch, Jeremy! But it was the best way to take turns keeping an eye on you.” He assured Jeremy earnestly. He actually looked a little guilty that they didn’t have a separate bed just for Jeremy. What the fuck?

“So you all just… watched me sleep. What a bunch of _weirdos_.” Jeremy joked.

“Alright, you’re making it sound weirder than it was.” Michael replied, looking vaguely amused. “Jack thought it would be best if you had someone awake and nearby if you woke up confused in the middle of the night. We didn’t actually _watch you sleep_.”

“I did Jeremy!” Gavin spoke up excitedly, willfully blind to any and all social cues that might have stopped him from speaking. “You’re so short you fit fine on the couch. You were curled up small like a cat! Little Jeremy on the couch. Little J!”

“I stand corrected, now that’s totally weird.” Michael interjected flatly.

“Little J?” Jeremy asked, a little indignant at the jab at his height, but mostly delighted at the bestowing of a nickname.

“Lil’ J!” Gavin shouted in agreement.

“I mean, that’s who you are now, Gavin’s weird names for things usually stick.” Michael agreed.

“Okay.” Jeremy replied. He tried to keep a poker face, but he couldn’t stop grinning.  It distracted him until they stopped outside the apartment building. But by the time they got to the front door, he was nervous again.

Okay, this was it, either his roommates were out for the day, or they were here and he could potentially lose everything. Would the Fakes rescind their offer when they realized how much of a fucking nerd he had been about them?

Moment of truth- Jeremy unlocked the door, heart in his throat, stepped inside… and immediately felt his heart take a nose dive to his shoes.

They were here. Both of them.

Matt was splayed across their shitty couch, not really looking fully awake, and Trevor was on Matt’s computer, what looked like the ULSA website on the screen.

They both perked up when Jeremy walked in, though.

“Jeremy! Where were-” Trevor stopped talking immediately after he saw who walked in after Jeremy. Both he and Matt got this odd look on their faces, like they weren’t sure what they were seeing was real. Jeremy knew the feeling- it was how he felt when he had first met the whole crew.

“Jeremy?” Matt asked, waiting for an explanation.

Instead of answering, Jeremy made a quick dash for his bedroom. The sooner he packed, the sooner they could get out of here.

As soon as he got to his room, he grabbed a backpack and started stuffing clothes in. He did have a ‘get the fuck outta Dodge’ bag, which he stuffed in the backpack too, but that was more of a ‘cash, weapons, and toothbrush’ kind of thing. The bare necessities. If he was going to be living with the Fakes for any period of time, he wanted his own goddamn underwear.

Finally, Jeremy retrieved the gun that was hidden underneath his bed, and took a quick look around before deciding he’d gotten everything he needed.

As he walked back to the living room, Jeremy suddenly realized his fatal mistake. In his haste to pack and get out of the apartment, he’d mistakenly let Matt and Trevor out of his sight. More specifically, he’d left them alone with Michael and Gavin.

This was a fucking disaster.

Okay, damage control time. Jeremy hurried back towards the voices- _oh God they were talking._

“Jeremy!” Trevor, the little shit stained devil boy, exclaimed. “We were just talking about you!”

 _I bet you were, you conniving freak of a human being._ “Oh yeah? What about?” Jeremy asked, trying to remain calm, and hide his internal panic.

“Oh, just how you’re their biggest fan.” Matt replied casually, like he wasn’t causing Jeremy a heart attack. Matt was an A-grade asshole, a demon of hell.

“Jeremy?” Gavin asked, turning to Jeremy raising his eyebrows.

Jeremy shrugged like it was nothing and prayed to whichever gods were listening that Matt dropped the subject.

He did not, because Matt obeyed no gods, no laws, and no rules of common fucking decency.

“Oh yeah, Jeremy’s like Fake AH fan number one. Fanboy prime. You may need to get a restraining order.” Matt continued nonchalantly, like a man who wasn’t about to be strangled might talk.

Jeremy broke into a cold sweat. His breathing sped up, and it felt like there was something curdling in his stomach. This could not be happening. This was the worst possible outcome, this was the cursed timeline-

Because while Gavin was squeaking out a delighted laugh, it was Michael that Jeremy was worried about. Michael had a look like he’d been handed the greatest gift in the world. There was a wave of realization downing on his face. Michael’s eyes were alight, and his grin was crossing over the line from angelic to devious.

He looked positively manic.

“Um, yeah.” Jeremy agreed hesitantly. He tried to downplay it almost immediately. “I had seen some of your work before. It was really impressive.”

“Jeremy’s being modest!” Trevor exclaimed, because if Matt was a demon Trevor was Satan himself, _that’s what Jeremy gets for letting someone sleep on his couch, should have kicked the bastard out as soon as he’d gotten the chance-_

“Dooley here’s been following you in the papers for years!” Trevor exclaimed like this was joyous news to be shared with everyone. Trevor was possibly the cruelest person Jeremy had ever met, and surely deserved to be put down, for everyone’s sake.

“Is that true Jeremy?” Gavin asked, elated.

“Yeah.” Jeremy said, glaring daggers at Matt and Trevor. He spoke quickly to get it all out at once. This was it. “When I found out it was you guys I’d be working with, I was pretty stoked. Didn’t make a big deal about it in case it’d make it weird for you guys, and I didn’t want to mess up the Vagos job.”

 “Aww, don’t worry Little J! We’re not going to kick you out for being a fan of our crew!” Gavin cooed, looking delighted at Jeremy’s worry.

“Really?” Jeremy felt an overwhelming wave of relief. His new job was saved. Everything was right with the world. This was glorious, amazing, a Christmas miracle. The Fakes- they really wanted him to be part of the crew. Geoff wasn’t going to blast his ass to the moon, Ryan wasn’t going to cut off his thumbs for some mysterious but surely nefarious reason!

“Yes, really.” Michael replied, still looking inordinately amused at Jeremy’s trauma.

“But you’re never going to stop giving me shit about it.” Jeremy added, falling back to Earth, and feeling marginally less giddy as he realized that even if the guys weren’t weirded out, they’d definitely be bringing this up to tease him with from now until eternity.

“Oh no. Never.” Michael promised, laughing, his eyes alight at the idea of future mischief.

And that was… not the worst thing that could have come from this conversation. The hazing Michael was definitely planning would not be fun, and he’d really rather do without it, but as the panic died down, Jeremy realized that he trusted the guys enough to not dump his ass at the first sign of weirdness.

Jeremy might be a car crash of a human being, but he as good at his job, and the Fakes had recognized that. They wouldn’t kill him for liking their work, even if his admiration of them had been a little obsessive.

No, no of course not. Jeremy felt a little better. For fuck’s sake, he knew the Vagabond’s name, he’d seen his face, they weren’t going to do that only to ditch him _now_.

Ryan had even cooked him breakfast this morning, he wasn’t going to cut off Jeremy’s thumbs! Probably! You could never actually tell with Ryan, but most likely definitely probably not!

Gavin nodded enthusiastically, like he could hear what Jeremy had been thinking. “You’re one of us now Little J, we’re not going to kick you out. In fact, you’re gonna need a codename now that you’re on the main crew! We all have one.”

Gavin was on a roll now, but Jeremy was still stuck on ‘you’re one of us’. That was… okay, he was freaking out a little bit. This must be a mistake, right? Some kind of prank, a cruel joke. This was like getting his dream job, and Jeremy had gotten it almost by accident. Was he hallucinating right now? Exactly how legal were the drugs Jack had given him?

“You’ve got some time to think about it.” Michael assured Jeremy, reading the slightly stunned expression wrong. “But it’s gotta be a good one, so think about it.”

Jeremy nodded, still distracted. “I think I may have something…” He mumbled, his mind racing. Maybe… Maybe…

It was time for the return of Rimmy Tim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! Thank you to everyone for reading, and thank you especially to everyone who commented- knowing there were people out there who enjoyed my writing and wanted to read more really helped my motivation to keep up with this story!


End file.
